


Crawling Back To You

by madrabbitgirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Childhood Friends, College Student Aziraphale, College | University Student Crowley (Good Omens), Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Not Beta'd, Punk Rock Crowley, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Self-Conscious Aziraphale (Good Omens), They had a fight and meet years later, crowley is an idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrabbitgirl/pseuds/madrabbitgirl
Summary: Aziraphale left town one night with his Lit Professor, attempting to escape his homophobic family in the only way he saw possible. Years later, after a dreadful break-up, he’s returned to live with his brothers and attempt to heal his broken heart. What he didn’t count on is his old friend Crawley- now calling himselfCrowley- to have returned as well. The wounds left by their last heated argument are deep and Aziraphale may never be able to regain what they once had, but he’d certainly like to try. The two of them need to have an actual conversation but that's not really how these plots go, is it?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Original Male Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)/ Lucifer (Original Character), Crowley/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Not beta'd, not Brit-Picked, American author. It's a bit freeform, though, so I'm not too worried about it, it's just supposed to be cute/angsty. I wanted a quick and easy brain-bleachy project. Also, warnings for Aziraphale feeling self-conscious about his weight. I'm going through some stuff and I might have poured a bit too much of myself into his insecurities but I'm leaving it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own literally nothing, I'm just playing with the characters. I can't believe that's a thing we need to say. I'm sorry if I'm too snarky today.

_Past_

Crawley couldn’t find his angel anywhere, which was unusual. Of the two of them, Aziraphale was the one who was the most social. He was always flitting between student union groups, theater club kids, book clubs, ect, speaking to everyone and enjoying everything they had to offer. He’d been that way as long as Crawley had known him and they’d been friends since they were kids. So it was particularly strange to not be able to find him anywhere on campus. It was worrying, actually.

He pushed open the double glass doors to the student lounge, which was empty this late in the afternoon. The sun was setting outside, filling the entire room with a weird orange glow that melted into the neon lights overhead. “Angel?” 

There was movement behind one of the sofas, between the wall and the back of the couch. 

“Aziraphale? Hey, angel- angel?” Crawley said. The bag of donuts he was holding onto flopped to the floor as he saw his best friend, crumpled against the back of the sofa. The angel in question was curled into a ball, with his cherubic face buried in his arms, his shoulders shaking gently. Crawley knew that if Aziraphale looked up his eyes would be red from crying. “What’s up, angel?” 

True to form, when Aziraphale looked up, his eyes seeking his friend, his own were glassy and pink, swollen from crying. His white-blonde hair was a disaster, flying up all over. Crawley’s mouth, painted with black lipstick, set itself in a thin, grim line. He gazed down at Aziraphale, attempting to keep any pity from his expression. Pity only upset the angel worse when he was like this. 

“Was it your family again?” Crawley asked. 

“You might say that,” Aziraphale said softly. He wiped at his eyes with his soft hands. Crawley sighed. He picked up the bag he’d dropped and crouched down next to his friend. He patted down his studded leather vest until he found a crumpled up napkin stained with pizza grease. With gentle fingers, Crawley swiped the cheap paper over Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks. His angel friend sighed. “You’re too kind to me.” 

“S’what best friends ‘r for. Besides, you deserve a little kindness,” Crawley replied with a shrug. Leather and chains creaked with his movements as he folded himself into a sitting position next to Aziraphale, their shoulders and sides touching. He offered the forgotten donuts up to Aziraphale. “Brought these for you. I knew you were studying for finals today, you probably forgot to eat. Wanna talk about it?” 

It was Aziraphale’s turn to sigh, but he took the bag from Crawley. “Gabriel found out.” 

“Shit!”  


In all the years that Crawley had known Aziraphale, and it had been many, he’d never met the oldest Fell brother. That didn’t stop him from forming the opinion that Gabriel was a _wanker_ and Crawley would love nothing more than to pummel him with his car. Or, since he was a broke kid still in uni, push him in front of an oncoming bus. The whole family was known to be very religious and more than a little unkind towards homosexuality, forcing Aziraphale to be in the closet for fear of what would happen if he ever came out. 

Crawley swallowed hard, scratching at his chin. “How?” 

Aziraphale started to tear up again, and he reached for the damp napkin. “He saw me with my-um, with- well, he saw me with my, ehm, boyfriend.” 

Crawley’s eyebrows raised. Even _he_ hadn’t met the man that Aziraphale was, apparently, secretly seeing. He could only repeat the question. “How?” 

Aziraphale’s face screwed into an expression of ‘my dear, surely you could do better’ which reminded Crawley that deep down, no matter what happened, Aziraphale would be okay. “We were at a restaurant. It was quite nice, really, fairly expensive and the appetizer, my dear-” 

“Angel,” Crawley interrupted with a twirling hand gesture to move the story along. He wanted to hear the real meat of the problem, not spend three hours listening to a dissection of every flavor profile of every crumb of food there was. Especially when it was some other unknown bloke feeding it to him instead of Crawley. 

“Oh, yes, of course. You’re right, I can tell you that later. There isn’t much else to say, however. I hadn’t realized that Gabriel was back in town, you know, but he was and he had come in with some business associates as, well, as my _boyfriend_ happened to be asking me to try something,” Aziraphale explained. “Even though there was nothing untoward happening, it wasn’t as though I was bent over a table or something vulgar, everything clicked for him, I suppose. And now there’s no hiding it.” 

Aziraphale started to sniffle but Crawley pointed to the bag in his hands. 

“Come on, angel. Have a snack, you’ll feel better. It’s no fancy tart or appetizer or whatever but I got them for you before the place sold out.” At least if Aziraphale were eating he’d probably be too distracted to cry. Unfortunately, Crawley did notice a self-conscious hand sneakily stroke over his rounded tum. “Whatever Gabriel or your new mystery man is sayin’, angel, you need to forget it. They can both fuck right off.” 

Aziraphale offered him a tiny smile and he took a donut out of the bag. “Both of them might have made some comments, but nothing to worry about. Gabriel said something very nasty about how I can’t possibly be gay, I’m not fit enough- well, I’d- I’d rather not think abotu that right now.” 

Crawley swore, making a vow to one day punch Gabriel square in his perfect face. “Fuck. Angel-” 

“I know, dear, I know. I know exactly what you’re going to say, as you’ve said it so often, and you’re quite correct, of course,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. He put the now-bitten donut back into the bag, dusting his hands together to remove the traces of sugar on his fingers. Crawley tried to tamp down thoughts of licking the sugar off but they rose to the front of his mind anyway. “I need to move out.” 

“Yeah,” Crawley agreed. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s time. I mean, you always knew this day would come, yeah? From what you’ve said, it’s not a real shocker that your brother was a- a-” 

“An arse?” Aziraphale offered. Crawley cracked a smile. 

“Yeah. An arse. I was just trying to think of something worse.” He picked at a hole in his black jeans, exposing more of the skin that stretched over his bony knee. “We should make a plan or something. Figure out how to get you somewhere safe.” 

“I’m not in any immediate danger, Crawley, I’m sure of it. It’s just going to be a little uncomfortable for the time being,” Aziraphale objected. “Besides, you’ve got a lot on your plate. You don’t need to worry about me. You’ve got your band and your own studies to think of.” 

“That doesn’t matter, angel, you know that. We’ve been friends for- how long? Since we were ten?” Crawley said, nudging Aziraphale with his shoulder. He tried to smile at his friend. “If we need to, I dunno, get a flat together or, or, or something! Something, angel. You could crash in my room until you figure it out. I don’t mind the floor.” 

“Crawley, that’s silly. You’re suggesting that I just, what, go off somewhere with you? My family will never let me out of their sight, you know that. I can’t stay here and I certainly can’t stay in your house. There’s already too many of you as it is,” Aziraphale objected, pressing his eyes closed. Crawley knew he was trying not to cry again. He had a point. Crawley shared a large house with several other students, most of whom made up his band, and they’d snuck in one or two that weren’t meant to be there already. “You can’t imagine the hold they have on me-” 

“Or the hold you let them have,” Crawley countered. 

“Crawley-” 

“You're right, I just can’t possibly imagine what it’s like to have your family disapproving of your ‘lifestyle choices’,” Crawley snapped. He was starting to get annoyed now. This was an old argument for the two of them. Living together wasn’t the best case scenario, he knew that, and Crawley was used to roughing it- his parents had kicked him out at sixteen. He knew what it was like to have nothing to eat or no heat (or sometimes, just no place at all), and he knew that Aziraphale had every comfort that could be had. But was it worth hiding your true self just for a comfortable bed and food? Usually Crawley respected Aziraphale’s choice but today was taking a different turn. 

In Crawley’s defense, his parents would have kicked him out anyway. Being queer was just a convenient excuse. 

“Crawley, you know that’s not what I meant,” Aziraphale said. He watched his best friend pace away. “But you were never close to your parents. It’s different-” 

“Just because they already hated me doesn’t mean it was fun, you know,” Crawley growled, whipping around to glare at Aziraphale. The ever-present sunglasses on his face, hiding his eyes, was proof of that alone. Aziraphale’s eyes flashed back, just as angry as Crawley. 

“I know what you’ve been through, Crawley. I was there with you. I’m simply saying that having witnessed your situation, I’d rather not put myself in that same place,” Aziraphale snapped. “Quite understandable, I’d say. I’m not the same as you, Crawley.” 

He was right. They weren’t the same. Crawley felt a tightness cramp in his chest, a numbness sweeping over him. He stopped his frantic pacing and just stared, with his jaw clenched and tense. This stupid, stuck-up, bitchy little angel- “Why haven’t I met your boyfriend yet?” 

The question threw Aziraphale for a loop. “Beg pardon?” 

“You’ve been seeing him for weeks, angel. Why haven’t I met him yet?” Crawley asked, feeling more and more like he was unearthing something he didn’t want, some ugly prize that he’d rather leave alone. 

“Crawley, you know that we’ve been keeping our relationship quiet. It just hasn’t been the right time,” Aziraphale said. It was his turn to stand as he’d begun to feel a bit trapped in his hiding place, with his back up against the furniture. 

“Or are you ashamed of me, too? Bit like my parents, eh? I’m s’posed to be your best friend, I’m not just _people_ , and you know that I’d never tell anyone. But I’ve never met your boyfriend,” Crawley pointed out. “You don’t want my help. You don’t want me around- you’re ashamed of me. You don’t want anyone to know that we’re friends, do you?”

“Oh, oh for Heaven’s sake, Crawley, that’s not-”

Only, as Crawley watched his fluttering objections, the horrifying truth bubbled to the surface of Aziraphale’s face. That was exactly it. He’d always known they were too different to be friends by society’s standards, and he’d given up on ever having his feelings returned (the crush he’d had on Aziraphale was almost as old as their friendship), but he never suspected his stuck-up, prim and prissy little angel would ever turn their differences against him. His heart broke. 

“It is, isn’t it? That’s exactly it. What about me, exactly, Aziraphale? The nail polish? The studs? It’s called having an _aesthetic_ , which you don’t have unless you count ‘prematurely old lit professor’,” Crawley said angrily, gesturing to Aziraphale’s cream waistcoat and wrinkled khaki trousers. He’d dressed like that ever since they were kids. Crawley’s nostrils flared. “I never thought you’d be capable of it, but you’re just like your brothers, aren’t you?” 

Aziraphale’s blue eyes were glassy again and shining. “I just supposed you’d have outgrown it by now. I thought it was just a phase. Sometimes it’s all a bit-” he shrugged, “much.” 

“Well. There you have it, then. I’m guess I’m a bit much,” Crawley said, lifting his shoulders in a sarcastic shrug. He didn’t understand why he was so _hurt_ , but he was. “Have fun with your mystery boyfriend.” 

He turned, the thick soles of his leather boots clunking softly against the institutional carpet as he made his way out of the student lounge. Aziraphale didn’t call out after him and he didn’t turn back to look.

***

Crawley didn’t hear from Aziraphale but that wasn’t unusual for them. Aziraphale refused to get a mobile which meant that Crawley was usually just stalking around looking for him, but since he was still angry he hadn’t made the effort. Besides, it was only a day later and he had band practice. Or, that’s what he told himself.

“Come on, you lot, it’s like you didn’t even practice,” Crawley snarled, knowing full well that none of them had practiced, including himself. “We’re not going to be ready for Friday with you playing like that.” 

Beez, the bassist for Crawley & the Worms, snickered meanly. “You’re just bitchy because your boyfriend dumped you for that old man.” 

Crawley hissed, but he raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? Aziraphale-” 

“Took off with our lit professor last night?” Beez said, flopping down on the worn-out sofa in the living room of the hovel they all called home. Their emo-mullet hair fell into their eyes and they jerked their head to get it out of the way. 

“It was all over campus today,” Hastur snickered, twirling a drumstick in his hand. “The English professor was let go because he was boffing some student and the kid’s family got wind of it, turned him into the admins. Turns out it was your _angel_.” 

Crawley felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. His heart pounded in his chest. “Wh-What?”  
“Oh yeah,” Beez said, picking at their teeth with a guitar pick. “There’s no mistaking it with a name like ‘Azrafell’ or whatever. Him and the professor are gone. They ran off together. Bloke’s partner is _pissed_.” 

He was not shaking. He was _NOT_ shaking. His angel, his best friend, the love of his fucking life was just _gone_ , without even saying good-bye. All of their time together over the last decade or so was just up in flames for all the good it did him. Beez, who was a touch kinder than Hastur or Ligur, noticed something was up. 

“You alright, Crawley?” 

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” Crawley whispered, swallowing hard. 

“Crawley-” 

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Crawley roared, unable to contain his anger. He tossed his guitar down, not even wincing when the wood cracked against the floor. “Just fucking don’t. I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” 

“What about practice?” Beez asked, pushing up to watch him. 

“Fuck practice. I’ve got to go,” Crawley said, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Same as chapter 1 only I’m adding that I’m picturing them in a mid-size kind of town. Not too small, but small enough that everyone knows everything about everyone? In my imagination, Aziraphale ran off to the big city with his professor and is now returning back to this smaller place.

_Present_

Aziraphale swore that he would never come back, and yet, over time all things had the possibility to change. He wasn’t God, of course, he couldn’t possibly have known how his life would have turned out. He just hadn’t expected it to turn out in this particular way. He never would have dreamed that he’d end up back in his hometown, drifting along as he considered what, precisely, he ought to do with his life.

“Aziraphale!” 

He snapped out of his woolgathering as his name was called by the nice man behind the counter. Aziraphale offered him a polite, sweet smile and reached out to take the paper cup from him. The sigil-like occult logo of the shop was emblazoned on the front. “Thank you, Newt.” 

“I didn’t make it, I promise. Anathema did,” Newt said, nodding his head towards where a young lady with dark hair was working the espresso machine. She was quite young to own a shop, but she ran it competently, and it was just what the town needed. Charmed Coffee was a nice change of pace when compared to the larger coffee chains that one found in larger cities. 

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. Newt, for all that he was trying his best, did not get along with machinery, especially the espresso machine. He tried not to let the relief show on his face but Newt caught it. 

“It’s okay! I know, I’m not- well, I’m learning, right? That’s important?” Newt asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Aziraphale nodded politely. 

“Of course you are. And I’m sure Miss Device is a wonderful tutor,” Aziraphale said, smiling again. “I’m going to have a seat. Thank you, Newt.” 

Charmed Coffee was a perfect place to read, in Aziraphale’s opinion. Anathema had a somewhat occult aesthetic that kept too many people from venturing in, which was a pity as she was truly the best at her craft. She served locally sourced pastry from a nearby bakery and her coffee was exquisite, although Aziraphale favoured her triple chocolate cocoa with whipped cream on top. The shop sat in an old building that had once been residential, but now had a storefront. There was exposed brick, dim mood lighting and chalk boards along the walls announcing the specials of the day. Weak winter light streamed in from the glass storefront, perfect for reading without straining his eyes. His usual table, which was small and made of dark wood, with only two chairs, was free. He took a moment to divest himself of his tartan coat and matching scarf, hanging his worn brown leather bag over the back of the chair as well. 

He took his favorite copy of one of his favorite books from the bag, opening up to a familiar passage. Just as he was about to read, a cherry danish appeared next to his cup. Aziraphale glanced up at Anathema with a smile. “What is this, my dear?” 

Anathema grinned. “Just a freebie. For being so nice to Newt, not to mention you just looked like you could use a treat.” 

“You’ll never make any money if you give all of your merchandise away,” Aziraphale told her, but he was delighted at the free pastry nonetheless. He took a bite, moaning at the perfect tartness of the cherry contrasting with the sweet white icing drizzle. “Oh, my dear, this is perfect.” 

“Actually, Newt baked that batch. We’re trying out something new,” Anathema told him. Aziraphale’s brows rose up in surprise.

“Oh? I thought you liked getting the baked goods from that charming couple,” Aziraphale said. Anathema took the opportunity to pull out the chair and sit down across from him, leaning forward to prop her chin up on her hand. 

“We are, and we still will get some things, but, if you can keep it on the down-low, they’re opening a diner so they might be a bit too busy to continue providing. I thought I might supplement with some of our own stuff and, you know, Newt is very dedicated to learning,” Anathema told him. Aziraphale grinned at her. 

“He’s certainly devoted to something. I think it’s a marvelous idea and tell the girls I said congratulations the next time you see them. I look forward to eating at their diner once it’s opened,” Aziraphale said. Anathema blushed, avoiding the subject of Newt.

“I’ll pass along the message, definitely. What are you reading?” she asked. 

“Oh, it’s just Pride and Prejudice. Again.” Aziraphale held the old copy up, letting her see the cover art. There was a little inscription in the front from the person who had given it to him, but he was trying not to think about that. “I was in the mood for something I’ve already read. I fear I’ve been a bit tense and starting something new was too much work for my mind right now.” 

“Anything you want to talk about? I hear tired baristas make a great substitute for therapists,” Anathema teased. Aziraphale’s lips quirked up, but it wasn’t quite a smile. 

“No, no, nothing to worry about. There’s just been some family stress, that’s all. It’s very hard to move back in with your family after you’ve already grown up,” Aziraphale told her. Anathema nodded. 

“That’s why I left the country. It’s hard to move back in with them when they’re an ocean away,” she agreed. Her eyes drifted out to the street and she straightened, smoothing out the apron that she always wore over her old-fashioned dresses. “Oh, I have to get behind the counter. I think my newest crush just pulled up.” 

Aziraphale spared a glance at Newt when she said that and the poor boy looked stricken but resigned. Curious, he decided to follow Anathema’s gaze to see who had caught her attention. “Who are you-” 

“There he is! He’s totally gay but if he weren’t, he’d be just my type,” Anthema explained, lifting her chin in the direction of a beautiful sleek, black automobile that was parking. The man who slithered out of the driver’s seat was sex personified.

Aziraphale felt sick.

It was Crawley.

“Ah, you, ehm, never know, my dear. Perhaps he swings for both sides, as they say.” He did. Aziraphale knew that well.

“Both _teams_ ,” Anathema told him. “I don’t care where he swings as long as it’s somewhere in my general direction.” 

Crawley looked beautiful, Aziraphale thought. His old studded leather jacket, covered in patches, and ripped jeans were gone, replaced by expensive-looking tight trousers and a black suit jacket. Some sort of flashy skinny scarf and a chain dangled off the thin column of his throat. Honestly, though, Aziraphale barely registered his changed appearance through the shock of seeing his old friend. It’d been more than twenty years, after all. Crawley’s beautiful long hair was gone! Shorn off into a short, gravity-defying pompadour style that set off his perfect, sharp cheekbones-

Alright, so perhaps he registered some of Crawley’s changes, after all. 

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale?” Anathema was waving her hand over his face, trying to get his attention. “I mean, sure, he’s gorgeous and all, but you’ve gotten awfully pale. You alright?” 

“Ah! Um, yes. Of course! Everything is, ehm, just tickety boo!” Aziraphale said. He glanced out the window once more. 

Oh no. He was _coming this way_.

“Ahh, best get back behind the counter, my dear. You don’t want Newt scaring him off, do you?” Aziraphale tried to joke but it felt awkward and stiff. Anathema wasn’t convinced, either. 

“Alright but your aura’s turned a very strange color and we might need to talk about that,” she told him and he waved her off again, forcing himself to look down at his book. She swished off in a swirl of long skirts just in time for the bells on the door to chime. 

There were a few sauntering footsteps, expensive boots against hardwood flooring, and then Aziraphale heard his voice. The world seemed to stop. 

“Americano. Large,” Crawley said. Aziraphale felt like his heart was going to be dissolved by his stomach acid, leading to both organs falling straight out of his chest and onto the floor. He couldn’t bear to face-

“Darling! There you are.” 

The door had opened again, and a voice that somehow managed to be both boisterous and purring called out to Crawley. Aziraphale did look up this time and he watched as a flashy blond man in a very nice dark suit and overcoat came into the shop. The man headed straight for Crawley. Crawley smirked and turned back to Newt.

“Make that two, to go,” he instructed.

“You and your coffee. We’re going to be late,” the blond man complained. He was a very well-built fellow and stood just a tiny bit taller than Crawley, which was a feat in itself. His shoulders were wide and seemed fairly well muscled and the flat planes of his body modeled his clothes more than wore them. Aziraphale felt a pang, comparing his own smaller, rounder body to the gentleman attempting to crawl up Crawley’s rear end in the middle of a public space. 

“So? Make ‘em wait. It’ll take five minutes and you know I work better when caffeinated,” Crawley was saying, shrugging the man off his shoulders. Aziraphale tried not to watch (and failed) as the blonde man placed a possessive hand on Crowley’s hip, pulling him close again as they waited for their drinks. 

“This place is utterly backwater, darling. I can’t wait to see the end of it,” the man was saying. Crawley offered him a smirk. Aziraphale couldn’t be sure, of course, as he hadn’t laid eyes on the man in decades, but it seemed humorless. Just a polite gesture, really, not a genuine smile. 

“Hopefully that’ll be soon,” Crawley said. The blond was about to say something back but he caught Aziraphale peeping and sent him an evil sneer. 

Aziraphale blushed and looked down at his book.  
_  
“It’s your favorite, angel,” Crawley said. He’d stolen a copy of_ Pride and Prejudice _from school. The institutional copy had wretched cover art and was very cheap-looking, but it was the same copy that they’d poured over together as they both attempted to earn a passing mark. Aziraphale’s fingers traced over the too-slick hardcover. It was sweet that Crawley had thought to steal him something at all. “Look, I don’t have money. This can just be a placeholder until I can buy you something cool.”_

_“I can’t keep this, Crawley! It’s school property!” Aziraphale objected. “They’ll notice one is missing!”_

_Crawley laughed, opening the cover and pointing to where he’d written in the book, in thick black Sharpie. The short, chipped-black-polished nail of his pointer finger tapped gently on the inscription. “You can’t give it back now, angel. I wrote in it.”_

_“Good Lord,” Aziraphale muttered, secretly pleased as he read over the sweet inscription._

Aziraphale risked a glance back at Crawley. He’d certainly grown up. Of course, it _had_ been about twenty years or so. He wasn’t surprised to see him doing so apparently well. 

The blond caught him looking again and leaned over to make a soft comment in Crawley’s ear. He found himself on the receiving end of a sunglass-covered stare, one eyebrow raised. Crawley shook his head and shrugged as he reached over the counter to take two large coffees from Anathema. He handed one to the other man and placed a hand at the small of his back, pushing him towards the door. 

“Sure you don’t know him, darling?” the man was asking. “He’s staring.” 

Crawley shook his head. “Not at all. Let’s go.” 

Aziraphale’s cheeks were on fire and he looked back down at his book, unwilling to watch Crawley lead the blond man out of the coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are again. Same warnings and disclaimers as the first chapters, read at your own risk.

The town had certainly grown since Aziraphale left it, but one thing remained the same and that was the cute and quirky ‘historical section’ that boasted of small businesses and sweet looking storefronts that charmed both locals and tourists alike. On the weekends, there was one park that hosted a farmers market, even in the cold early spring weather. Things had changed, and certainly for the better, as far as Aziraphale was concerned. There were certainly things he missed about living in a larger city but, all things considered, there were things he enjoyed about being back ‘home’. 

His brother was not one of those things. 

After that fateful night so long ago, Gabriel had managed to somehow quiet the scandal and keep their mother from hearing about it. As far as she knew, Aziraphale had merely gone away with a friend to work on his studies. He never asked for financial support and he’d never brought any boyfriends home to visit, so a sort of truce had formed. Aziraphale could be one person in the city and one person in the country. 

It was all very _Importance of Being Earnest_ , really. 

And now he was back, permanently continuing the charade he found so stifling in his youth. Aziraphale had dreams of his own, none of which seemed very likely to be coming true. At this stage in his life, with lines popping up around his eyes and on his forehead, and the hair on his head ceasing to be white-blonde and starting to be just white, he’d resigned himself to the idea that he was past his prime. Gabriel was only too happy to point out to him that dreams were for young people. 

Still. It was nice to imagine what things would be like if they were different.

Aziraphale was so lost in his ideas, sparked by a call from the local antique emporium owner, Madame Tracy, that he missed a few things on his walk to her shop. Things like a shiny black antique car parked on the street nearby or the fact that the car was empty, meaning it’s owner could be anywhere.

“Hello, Tracy, my dear,” Aziraphale said, stepping into the moth-ball scented air of Madame Tracy’s shop. It was a decent sized store, but it was always stuffed to the gills with things stacked precariously to the ceiling. Sometimes it felt more than a little claustrophobic but Aziraphale often found himself getting lost among the old books there. 

“Morning, love. You’re looking a bit tired today. Everything alright?” Tracy asked, batting her long false lashes at him with all the innocence of a school-girl. Her teased red hair had a nineteen-sixties sort of feel to it and clashed horribly with her blue eyeshadow. Aziraphale offered her a kind smile.

“That’s not a very nice way to greet a customer. You’ll hardly get any business telling people they look tired. Are you going to tell me I look old as well?” he teased, rubbing his hands together. The damp, grey day had a chill that followed everywhere, even inside. 

“Now that you mention it, you do look a bit-” Tracy started, pretending to give him a scrutinizing stare. 

“Oh hush! That’s enough out of you. I was told you needed my expert opinion on a rare book?” He raised his eyebrows, holding out his hands.

“Yes, of course. One track mind, you. It just came in and the vendor who brought it didn’t seem to think it was worth much, but I think she’s wrong,” Tracy said. She reached behind the counter and pulled out the book in question. She pinched her tongue between her teeth as she handed it over to him, pulling her mouth to the side in contemplation. “You know, you could multitask and tell me what’s trouble you _while_ you look at the book.” 

“Or you could mind your own business and just let me enjoy this,” Aziraphale remarked dryly. “You know I’m not an expert in children’s books. You could probably receive the same information from the Google.” 

“Just Google, dearie, and I know. But we’re friends and also I think I’ve downloaded another one of those computer viruses because it’s been awfully slow lately,” Tracy complained with a dismissive wave, the movement causing several bangle bracelets to click together loudly. 

“You should stop visiting those naughty websites you’re so fond of and you wouldn’t keep having that problem,” Aziraphale murmured. He lifted the book, letting his fingers run over the worn brown velvet binding. “I’ve never seen one of these up close, but I have seen one at a book auction. Limited edition, nineteen seventy-four, only fifteen hundred of these were made. I wouldn’t price it less than two hundred pounds, that’s for certain. _The Velveteen Rabbit_ , how charming.” 

“That silly girl had much less on it, let me tell you. I knew it was worth something. It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?” Tracy cooed, taking the book back from him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Now, let me repay you. Was it Gabriel again?” 

Aziraphale huffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re not going to quit asking until you suss out some sort of gossip, are you?” 

Tracy grinned, stretching her red painted lips wide and bright. “Certainly not. Especially not if he’s still telling you that you’re worthless just for being a bit-” 

“Dumpy? Over the hill? Dull?” Aziraphale asked. Of course, Gabriel was right about all three, probably. He never seemed to be wrong. “Stuffy?” 

Tracy started to giggle and say something back, but movement behind Aziraphale caught her attention and her friendly smile shifted into something a little more professional and certainly more _welcoming_. “Just a moment, Aziraphale. Will there be anything else for you today, love?” 

She motioned for him to scoot over to allow whatever customer was behind him to step closer to the till. 

“Just this, thanks,” said the voice that never failed to have Aziraphale’s heart racing. His eyes flashed excitedly as he turned, his brows knitted together in a hopeful expression. He could see himself reflected in his old friend’s large sunglasses, and there was a bitter smile twisting the edges of Crawley’s mouth, but he said nothing as he handed a short stack of vinyl records over to Tracy to wrap up. 

“Beez said you might drop by,” Tracy told him, punching numbers into the register. “I’m Tracy, by the way, and that’s Aziraphale, our local bibliophile. Are you in town long?” 

Crawley’s expression remained tense, but his words were friendly enough when he spoke. “Beez-y-body needs to stop telling people things that are none of their business. I, um, eh- well, I guess a few weeks. Maybe more. I’ve got some stuff to do in the area.” 

Aziraphale had read enough novels in his lifetime to know the plot of this current story- Crawley didn’t want him to know anything and was avoiding Tracy’s otherwise harmless line of questioning. If they’d still been friends, he would have elbowed Crawley’s side to show that he was being a bit rude. The tension, the stiffness, it was all so unlike the boy he’d known. Crawley was handing over payment for his purchase and accepting back a paper bag full of records from Madame Tracy, who not-so-subtly slipped her own naughty side business card to him with a wink. 

“If you need anything else while you’re in town, dear, you can certainly email me,” she said. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, muttering, “Good Lord.” 

Crawley snorted and then grinned. He made an impish show of reaching into his very tight front trouser pocket and withdrawing a hard silver business card holder with an embossed, filigree sort of pattern on the front. There were several hip wriggles. Aziraphale’s mouth went dry. Crawley slid a rectangle of expensive black cardstock across the counter towards Tracy while shoving the case back into the depths of his trousers. It was a business card, with shiny silver lettering that read _Anthony J. Crowley_ with his phone number on it. Aziraphale was sure that under the sunglasses, Crawley- no, _Crowley_ \- was winking at her as well. 

“Same goes for you,” Crowley purred. It was Aziraphale’s turn to snort indelicately, which earned him another raised eyebrow and what he was sure was a scrutinizing glare from Crowley. 

“What does the ‘J’ stand for?” Aziraphale asked coolly. He knew perfectly damn good and well that Crowley had no middle name to speak of. His own bitterness at their silly little fight started agitating his brain, supplying him with alternatives like ‘jerk’ and ‘jackass’. Those were certainly appropriate ‘J’ names.

“Just a J, really,” Crowley replied, leaning on the counter. Aziraphale tried not to follow the line of his body with his eyes, but Crowley was very good at appearing tempting. “How much for that old book?” 

His jerked his head in the direction of _The Velveteen Rabbit_ , which was lying behind the counter. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t finished with my appraisal,” Aziraphale lied, his voice stiff and aloof. Crowley’s lips turned down, but more in the way someone would if they were trying to hide a smile and delighting in someone else’s discomfort. Or if they knew they were being particularly annoying and enjoyed the idea more than they should. 

“Pity. Luc, my friend, just loves old books. He collects them,” Crowley said, and the way he shifted, his hips tilting slowly, left little to the imagination. Aziraphale ignored him. “Of course, sometimes, if he already owns the copy I’ve bought for him, he gives them to his sister.” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips together so hard they turned white around the edges. He was not going to engage. He was _not_ going to engage, not with the morning he’d had already, but he’d known Crowley long enough to know that he was being baited and he didn’t like it.

“She likes to cut them apart and put them into scrapbooks, collages, you know that kind of thing,” Crowley said and Aziraphale hated himself for the audible gasp that escaped his lips. Crowley snickered. “See you around, angel.” 

He pushed himself up and swaggered out of the building, so apparently intent on looking cool that he was practically leaning backwards while walking. He managed to get out of the door and down the steps at the front of the shop before Aziraphale could shake himself out of his righteous indignation. Nevertheless, Aziraphale followed and cleared his throat, attempting to get Crowley’s attention. It was drizzling now, and the air temperature had dropped significantly, making the entire chase even more disagreeable than it already was. 

“Why are you here?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley stopped and turned, pulling a too-innocent face. 

“Why shouldn’t I be? I could ask you the same question,” he said. His hair seemed brighter in the pure wintery light, a vibrant red against pale skin, which only made his sunglasses and dark clothes appear more sinister. He shoved his hands in his pockets, probably for warmth, Crowley had always gotten cold very easily, and the bag of records dangled off one skinny wrist. “You’re the one that left, after all. Before I did.” 

“I-ehm. I had to return. Quite suddenly,” Aziraphale explained, blushing. He twisted his hands together. He hated thinking of the shame that surrounded his unfortunate return to his family. Not to mention the heartache. “A few years ago, in fact.” 

“Interesting. And how did running off with our Literature professor work out for you?” The question sounded casual but nothing could mask the barbs hidden within. Aziraphale deflated, realizing he’d somehow hurt Crowley’s feelings. 

“Not so well, in fact,” Aziraphale said. “His partner wasn’t happy. I can’t say his wife was altogether pleased, either.” 

“Hmm.” 

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments, and then with nothing left to say, Crowley turned and started to walk away again, leaving Aziraphale standing on the street. 

_Oh, he bloody well will not!_ Aziraphale thought to himself before following Crowley. The taller man was faster, causing Aziraphale to have to jog to keep up. “You never told me why you’re back. I would have thought you very eager to get away from here.” 

“Why? Because you faffed off and there was no one left worth talking to?” Crowley asked, barely looking over his shoulder and certainly not slowing down at all. Aziraphale’s brows knit together.

“Well. Yes, actually, that’s exactly why.” Crowley stopped and Aziraphale felt his heart leap into his throat, knowing he’d made some sort of error. “Oh, I mean. But you’d always talked of going off and, er, travelling-” 

Crowley turned and looked at Aziraphale. How could it be that this devastatingly handsome man was the same person as that sweet, scruffy boy he’d known? It wasn’t just the snazzy new haircut or the change of clothes. There was something about him, something in the roguish bravado he put on- like he’d seen the end of the world and it was all a big joke, yet there was a refinement there. 

“You think an awful lot of yourself, angel. It’s a bit _sinful_ , if you ask me.” 

Aziraphale swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I’m sure I can guess your opinions on what would and would not qualify as sinful. Dressed like that leaves very little to the imagination.” 

He turned and started back towards Tracy’s shop, knowing that she was probably pressed up against the glass windows, attempting to see what they were doing. She knew how isolated Aziraphale could be sometimes, with the exception of her and Anathema, and it was not like him to chase strange men down the street.

Much to her continued disappointment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Crowley asked, his mouth hanging open. Offense creeped into his tone, etching angry lines over his face. Aziraphale turned back to face him, nose in the air, with his lips pursed and brows ever-so-slightly raised. Crowley cocked his head to the side, both waiting for and somehow demanding an answer.

“Merely that your tight jeans leave you a bit on display.” 

Crowley’s mouth opened wider, a shocked huff escaping his throat. “Are you implying that I look like a tart?”

“No. I wasn’t implying anything,” Aziraphale said calmly. “I believe I said it rather directly.” 

Crowley’s face melted into a half-annoyed, half-delighted scowl. “S’never good enough for you, is it? You didn’t like it when I looked broker than fuck, don’t like it when I put on something nice. Just face it, angel. You don’t like _me_ and you should probably stop trying to.” 

He turned and started to walk away again.

“That’s not true!” 

Crowley stopped, and then twisted to look back at Aziraphale.

“That’s simply not true,” Aziraphale insisted. “I always liked you.”

Crowley barked out a laugh and shrugged. “You sure have a funny way of showing it.” 

This time, Crowley turned to leave and Aziraphale didn’t call him back. Hopefully, whatever had brought him back to town would take him away again soon. Preferably before they were seen together. He didn’t feel like having to explain things to Gabriel.

During their argument the drizzle had turned to rain, leaving Aziraphale to make his way back into the shop with slow, sodden steps, shivering and wretchedly wet. 

“So, you know Mr. Anthony J. Crowley?” Tracy probed eagerly. She handed him a clean flannel, which he took with a grateful smile. He dried off his hands and then patted his damp face, pretending the moisture gathered around the corner of his eyes was nothing more than rainwater.

“Not very well. We were in school together. I was surprised to see him after so long,” Aziraphale said, and he hoped that she’d drop it. He knew better, of course, but one was nothing without hope. “He used to be called Crawley.”  


“He’s quite dishy,” Tracy continued, watching him with knowing eyes from beneath her large false lashes. 

“I suppose. If you’re into that sort of thing,” Aziraphale sniffed. She took the flannel from him and smacked him with it. 

“Alright, you. There’s a story here and I’m half a mind to close up shop and force it out of you, but I won’t. You’re my friend. I’m going to trust you to tell me because it’ll make you feel better if you get it off your chest,” Tracy said. She pulled a stool out from under the counter and pointed at it with one of her long, blood-red acrylic fingernails. “Sit. Let’s have it.” 

“There’s nothing much to say. He loathes me and I might have earned it,” Aziraphale told her. He perched uncomfortably on the stool, twisting his hands together.“We were childhood friends, and we were quite inseparable. I, ehm. Well, he and I had a bit of a falling out the night before I left and I never said good-bye or apologized. It seems he’s still put out over it.” 

Tracy crossed her arms under her cleavage, pushing her tits up just a little bit. She was always willing to show off merchandise, even when she was with someone who wasn’t particularly keen on buying it, so to speak. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” 

“Are you attempting to be Anathema and pretending you’re psychic?” Aziraphale asked, a tight smile on his lips. “Next thing you know you’ll be telling me what colour my aura is.” 

“Who do you think taught her everything she knows?” Tracy replied, arching one perfect eyebrow. Aziraphale sighed and nodded, and his shoulders slumped.

“He used to look quite rough. There was no way I could have taken him to my home or to any of our family gatherings. I never minded, of course. It was rather endearing, on him.” Aziraphale nibbled at his lower lip. “He had a tough childhood. His parents kicked him out when he was quite young and he sort of couch-hopped until he found a place to live. He was one of those types in the leather jackets with the safety pins and boots. It was attractive, on him, but sometimes it could be a little embarrassing to be seen with him.”

“Oh, Aziraphale, no,” Tracy breathed. Aziraphale pressed his lips together and nodded. 

“Or, well. That’s what I told him,” Aziraphale murmured. “It might not have been true. He was so dangerous looking and then I- well, I’ve looked like a middle-aged man since I was five years old.” 

“Oh, but sweetie, why did you lie to him? If he was your friend, you could have just told him that you felt awkward,” Tracy said. Her wide eyes were sympathetic, and she reached out to smooth a hand down his soft upper arm. 

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered as he recalled that dreadful night. “It all happened so fast, and there was a tiny bit of truth to it. I was with the old professor at that point, and it was nice to have someone of my- I don’t want to say class level-” 

“But that’s what you mean?” Tracy said. Aziraphale nodded, pressing his lips together.

“It was _hard_. To be with him and know we could never be together because we were so very different, because it would mean risking the best friendship I ever had. And in the end, I lost that friendship anyway,” Aziraphale admitted, feeling his cheeks flush. “I loved him so very much.” 

“Seems to me like he feels a little more than friendship for you, too,” Tracy said, but Aziraphale was already shaking his head before she got the words out. 

“Oh, no, not me. No. I’m old now, and even fatter than I was then. I’ve seen the man he’s with now, or I think he’s with, and he’s beautiful. He would _never_ ,” Aziraphale insisted. He tried to force a bright smile across his face, and he stood. “I should really be running along. I’ll come back another day to appraise the book for you. I’ve got to- well, I’ve just got to be going.” 

“Alright,” Tracy agreed slowly, watching him as he bustled and fussed his way out the door, waving and promising to come back soon. 

Back on the street, he started trudging his way back to his brother’s house, wondering if there was ever any way he could get Crowley to forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter mentions but does not specifically show physical child abuse/abuse of a teenaged person. Injuries are lightly described, the character talks about what happened to them, but you do not see the actual fight. If you do not want to read this portion of the fic, please skip the “Past” section and move to the “Present” section. Spoilers- the past section is directly following Crowley’s dad kicking him out, so it’s between him and Aziraphale and the fight has happened but it was a physical altercation. 
> 
> The “Present” section takes place at a farmer’s market, and features Beez and Luc. The idiots start talking again, it’s all very awkward. I may add warnings for Luc being kind of stalkery, but he’s not there yet so we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.

_Past_

Aziraphale was not the worrying type. Oh, who are we kidding, he was _exactly_ the worrying type. His anxious mind chewed on any and every reason to fret- school assignments, other people’s opinions of him, what his family was doing, how many snacks was appropriate to pack for a day at school. If it was a thing that could exist in the world, changes are that Aziraphale had worried over it at some point in his life.

He never worried over Crawley, though.

Crawley was an odd exception. He was chaotic and ever-changing. His tastes, his style, his hair- it was all one grand, funny experiment to him, and yet, deep down, he was always Crawley. He was gentle and kind and brave. For all of the black lipstick and nailpolish and skull tee shirts, he was, deep down, such a _good_ friend. The things that would have normally given Aziraphale anxiety didn’t really matter because underneath it all, no matter what, Crawley was always Crawley. 

Still…

Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel a tiny shiver of nerves as Crawley failed to show up for class. They had a sort of routine in the morning- they usually chatted for a few minutes before the teacher called the class to order and then he allowed himself a solid few minutes to stare at the back of Crawley’s head and dream of a world where he’d know what it was like to kiss him. Then, at about the mid-morning point, Crawley would get bored and start tossing little notes over his shoulder in Aziraphale’s direction, usually with some sort of rude drawing that Aziraphale always scolded him for but was secretly pleased by. He couldn’t say that it was completely unlike Crawley to be late. There were times when he showed up with bleary eyes, hair in tangles, yawning and stretching like he’d spent the night having the best shag of his life and couldn’t be bothered to wake in time for class. Other times he crashed in, loud and rock n’ roll style, practically singing his apologies to the teachers before flopping down in his desk chair to take a nice mid-morning nap. 

Something about today was off, though. Aziraphale couldn’t put his finger on it, but something in the air felt _wrong_. 

Perhaps it was his own anxieties bleeding into the situation. Gabriel had recently announced he’d be leaving for America to study business and the entire Fell household was in an uproar over it, which left Aziraphale emotionally fatigued. 

The clock ticked on ominously. 

When Crawley deigned to show up at school, lunch could be Aziraphale’s favorite time of the day. The school library was small and cozy, with an unfortunately limited collection that just seemed to grow smaller when either Crawley or Aziraphale creatively rehomed books that struck Azirapahle’s fancy (Crawley liked to say ‘liberated’ which was a bit too close to ‘stole’ for Aziraphale’s comfort but it did have a sweet sense of freedom). There were large tables and small windows, but sometimes when Crawley would fall asleep, slumped over in the arse-numbing wooden chairs, with his long red curls falling over his face, the sunlight would catch his fiery hair just right and he’d look like he had a halo. Other times, he’d entertain Azirapahle with his witty observations about teachers, the subject matter they were learning or other students. Hidden inside the quiet library, where no one else could find them, Aziraphale felt very safe. Crawley was very good at making it seem like they were in their own little world. 

This time, however, Crawley hadn’t appeared by lunchtime and Aziraphale was resigned to hiding himself away and catching up on his reading. It wasn’t a hardship- anyone who knew him knew how passionate he was about books. He had just slid open his old copy of _Hamlet_ , which they were beginning to study in class, and was refreshing himself on the story he already loved so well when another student approached the table. 

“You’re Fell, ain’t you? Crawley’s friend?” the student asked. Aziraphale didn’t know many of Crawley’s other friends, but the boy looked familiar. He was just as scruffy as any of the other people he’d seen Crawley fraternizing with. Aziraphale raised his eyebrow, tilting his head back slightly. He was _certainly_ not attempting to look condescending, and if he was he was _definitely_ not doing it out of any sort of envy that Crawley had other friends. 

“Yes, but if you’re looking for him, he didn’t come to school today so I’m unable to assist you,” Aziraphale replied stiffly, a smile flickering briefly on his lips. The kid, whose last name was something starting with an ‘S’, something like Shackle or Sherrinford or Shadwell, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He glanced about before he spoke, like he didn’t want to be caught. 

“S’not that. I think I found ‘im, actually. I should’ve got a teacher, but he asked for you so- so I figured you’d talk some sense into him. He needs a doctor,” the boy said. Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up.

“A doctor?”

“Yeah. He’s all beat up like, and bleedin’ and everything. It’s a real mess, I didn’t even recognize him at first,” the boy said, wincing as he recalled Crawley’s injuries. Aziraphale swallowed hard, and his heart started to pound in his chest. “You know, ‘cept that hair. No one else has hair like he does. But he won’t let me get a teacher or a nurse. He said I could just get you.” 

“That _idiot_ ,” Azirapahle said. He shoved his book (rather roughly) into his bag and pushed himself to his feet. “Best show me where he is.” 

The student led him to the third floor toilets, the old ones that no one used after the school had been remodeled a few years back. They weren’t as nice and the janitorial staff often skipped them when cleaning, but that also meant teachers often didn’t check them for hours on end, if one was so inclined to hide in the toilet to avoid going to class. As Aziraphale pushed open the door, he was greeted by the sound of violent retching. 

“Crawley? Is that you?” he called out in his nervous voice. From under the doors of one cubicle towards the end, he could see a black boot sticking out. With shaking hands, he opened that door as well.

It was a miracle he could recognize his friend at all. Oh, of course there were long, lean legs clad in black ripped skinny jeans and the abused old black henley shirt, but his beautiful face and the parts of his throat that Aziraphale could see- 

“Hey, angel,” Crawley slurred before heaving again into the toilet bowl. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

Most of his face was obscured by what looked to be the shredded remains of a tee shirt, wrapped around one of his eyes, but the rest of it was a disaster. Crawley’s sharp jaw was purple and yellow, littered with places where the skin had split open and dried blood flecked his face. The eye that was exposed was a galaxy of bruising- pinks, reds, purples and yellows meshing around and swelling. Aziraphale didn’t want to see the other eye. 

“Good Lord,” he gasped, gaping at his friend. “What happened?” 

Crawley attempted to shrug. “M’fine.” 

“You’re hardly _fine_ , Crawley,” Aziraphale said. He watched the redhead attempt to struggle to his feet only to flop back down again. 

“Okay, so I’m jus’ left of fine,” Crawley managed, leaning his head against the back of the toilet. “Maybe.” 

“More than ‘just left of fine’, Crawley! You’re seriously injured!” Aziraphale said, getting to his knees in the disgusting cubicle. He reached out to take the bandage off of Crawley’s other eye only to be batted away by his friend.

“No, ss’ugly unner there, angel, don’t,” Crawley groaned. He leaned back again, letting his ‘good’ eye close. 

“Don’t fall asleep, Crawley. I’m forming the opinion that you’re severely concussed and we need to call an ambulance,” Aziraphale scolded. His hands reached under Crawley’s arms, wrapping around his thin torso as he positioned the boy into a sitting position. “If your face looks like that, I’m willing to bet you’ve hit your head quite hard. You need to see a doctor.” 

“No doctors. ‘Ziraphale will fix it,” Crawley giggled. 

“I am Aziraphale, you- you- impossible man!” Aziraphale tried to swallow his panic away, but it was still there, threatening to push out the longer he looked at his friend. “Crawley. Who did this to you?” 

“No one. Hit a door with my face.” 

“Crawley!” Aziraphale pleaded, cupping Crawley’s jaw with his own soft hand. “You can’t lie to me, someone did this to you and they need to be held accountable. You need a doctor and then we need to, I don’t know, press charges-” 

“Was my dad. Dad did it,” Crawley said, trying to shake his head. Aziraphale’s heart shattered in his chest. Of course it was Crawley’s awful father. He stared open-mouthed as Crawley continued to groan out his words. “Can’t go back there, because I’m a fag. M’not, though. Equal opportunity shagger, that’s me. Big- Nnmm, bit, s’bit of a slag. Big slag.” 

“Shut up! You’re not to talk about my friend that way. You’re not a slag at all,” Aziraphale managed, but his heart had plunged to his toes. First things first, they needed to get help. Crawley needed actual help, whether he wanted it or not. Then, Aziraphale could have the worst panic attack of his life. “Come on, let’s get you out of here-” 

“No!” Crawley said, and he cringed away, backing himself into the piss-soaked corner behind the toilet. “M’face. Can’t go out there.” 

“Idiot. You are the biggest idiot I know,” Aziraphale scolded. Crawley answered by heaving again into the toilet. So, he probably definitely had a concussion. Aziraphale’s hands twisted together. “I have an idea. I’ll return, my dear, don’t you worry. Don’t let anyone see you and do not fall asleep!” 

Aziraphale bolted out of the toilet as fast as his brogues could carry him. Later, when he was safe in his large bedroom in his family’s expansive home, he would cry. He would picture looking down at Crawley and knowing why his father threw him out. Crawley was so _brave_. Later, Aziraphale would spiral with the knowledge that those sorts of injuries, inflicted by the ones that were supposed to love you, could happen to any of them, and he would sob. But right now, Crawley needed him and he had to _do_ something, anything. As students filtered back in from their lunch break, Aziraphale saw the only other friend of Crawley’s he knew- a boy named Ligur, who sometimes performed in a drag show as Miss Scale E. Tail. It only took a few sweet words and he had the treasure he sought in his hand and was racing back to the bathroom. 

“Crawley? Are you still in here?” 

He could see Crawley’s boots still sticking out but there was no movement.

“Crawley?” 

The boy was asleep against the porcelain, with his one exposed eye closed. 

“Crawley, darling, wake up,” Aziraphale said, his words turning high and breathy with panic. Oh, but he wasn’t sure what to do in these kinds of situations! Crawley would know what to do but he was the one hurt, after all. Aziraphale huffed and tried again. “Crawley! Crawley, wake up!” 

“Nnnkkk, stop,” Crawley drooled. “Was up all night, broke into the school. Lemme sleep.” 

“No, no, dear boy, please, open your eyes. We’re going to get you up and moving. You need a doctor,” Aziraphale insisted. He slipped the object he’d gone searching for out of his pocket. “I’ve got you something that will help you. Can I take your- er, bandage off?” 

Crawley was too slow to blink his eye open, but eventually his gaze found Aziraphale and that slow, pleased grin that he often wore beamed across split lips. “Hello, ‘Ziraphale. What are you doin’ here?” 

“Good Heavens, you aren’t making this easy,” Aziraphale complained. He reached for Crawley’s bandage only to have the other boy yank back in a surge of speed. 

“Nnnn-” 

“Crawley! Please! I have an idea, you’ll like it. You’ll look so cool,” Aziraphale pleaded, trying to appeal to his friend’s notorious sense of vanity. Crawley paused.

“I’ll look cool?” 

Aziraphale beamed at him, although the fear in his heart hadn’t abated. “Of course, you will. You always look cool.” 

“Oh. As long as you think so,” Crawley said, and that slow, drunk smile appeared again. 

Aziraphale held out a pair of large, plastic sunglasses. He knew Ligur often wore them to ward off migraines, so they were quite dark and would probably block out a lot of the light. “Look here. You’ll look like a rockstar who just got out of a bar fight. Now, let me see what’s under your bandage and I’ll give you these.” 

Crawley stared at him with the one good eye, sobering up. He could see by the set of Aziraphae’s jaw, the determination in his eyes, that he wasn’t going to give up. With shaking fingers, Crawley reached up and removed his make-shift bandage. 

“Oh, good God,” Aziraphale breathed, bile rising in his own throat.

“Nothin’ good about God, Aziraphale,” Crawley replied through numb lips. Aziraphale couldn’t even continue looking at him, he had to look away. 

Crawley’s hand reached out, plucking the sunglasses out of Aziraphale’s grasp. “I don’t think these are going to cover up much, angel.” 

Aziraphale continued to stare at the floor, shame heating his cheeks. “You only need to make it out of the building. Then we can, well. We can work something else out.” 

“They’re on,” Crawley said. Aziraphale turned back to look but he couldn’t keep his gaze on Crawley’s face. He swallowed. 

“Well, up you get, then. Let’s get you some help,” Aziraphale murmured, getting to his feet once more. He held out his hands to Crawley, and let the taller boy drape himself over his shoulders. At least at this angle, he wouldn’t have to see the absolute horror that was Crawley’s beautiful eyes. 

“It’ll be okay, angel,” Crawley whispered, his breath hot on Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale nodded.

“I’m meant to be telling you that,” he replied. Crawley snickered.

“S’okay, though. It’s going to be okay. Stop worrying,” Crawley mumbled. Aziraphale paused, sticking his head out of the doors and looking down the hall to make sure no one would see them. 

“I can’t stop worrying. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” Aziraphale murmured. They continued their journey down the hall at a slow pace, too slow for either of their comfort.

“Sure you do. You’d read yourself to death,” Crawley said with a snicker that ended in a cough. Aziraphale sighed.

“You’re probably not wrong.”

*** _Present_ ***

There would never be a day when it was too cold for Crowley’s signature swagger, but he had to admit, this particular morning was coming fairly close. It was fucking freezing and Crowley detested cold mornings, but at least the winter sun was shining and it wasn’t raining for once. He left the Bentley parked along the street and sauntered into the little park that boasted a year-round Saturday morning farmers market. Bit stupid, if you asked him, but literally no one ever asked him. He wasn’t a morning person at all, but for old friends he could be talked into them on occasions. Very rare occasions.

“Crowley, the Traitor,” Beez said as he entered their booth. It was pretty much just two folding tables set up with honey and wax candles from their own bees, but it was very sweet even if it was small. 

“Be nice, Beez, or I won’t give you the caffeine I promised you,” Crowley replied, holding up the white paper cup as a peace offering. The smaller human scowled and snatched the cup from him, cradling it between their hands, which were encased in fingerless black gloves. “Nice to see you.” 

“You said you’d be by. Didn’t expect you until later. If at all,” Beez told him. They took a sip of their drink, breathing out a huff of steam afterwards. “Hot.” 

“Yeah, that’s why they print the warning on the cups,” Crowley snickered. Beez slapped him on the arm. “What? Fine! I was awake, didn’t have anything better to do. I told you I’d stop by!” 

“Wouldn’t be the first promise you’ve broken,” Beez muttered. 

“What can I say? M’turning over a new leaf,” Crowley said, spreading his arms wide. In one hand he gripped a drink of his own, which he brought up to his lips as if to emphasize some sort of point. Beez didn’t look particularly impressed as they continued to scowl up at him through the heavy curtain of their black shaggy haircut. 

“Yeah? This new leaf have anything to do with that?” They angled their chin in the direction of another booth across the small park. Aziraphale was wrapped in his tartan coat again, speaking animatedly to some middle-aged woman about knitted items and wool. Instead of his matching tartan scarf, he had a pale blue knitted piece wrapped around his throat that only accentuated his rosy cheeks and the color of his blue eyes. The corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched and he wondered if Aziraphale had made the scarf himself, which would mean he’d improved since their school days. Crowley still had a lopsided maroon number that Aziraphale had gifted him one Christmas so long ago. 

“Nah. Didn’t even know he’d be here. Nasty sssurprise, really,” Crowley said, shivering again and turning his back on the angel. “Can’t I just buy an old friend some tea?” 

“Anyone else, yes, but not you.” Beez placed their cup on the table and reached over to pluck a smaller jar of honey from their stock. They popped the top off the cup and unscrewed the lid of the jar, letting a sizable portion pour into the cup before closing it all up again. Crowley winced at how sweet that would make the tea. “What d’you want, Crowley?” 

“Alright, alright, you caught me. I’m curious how this all works, then. All this market jazz,” Crowley said, gesturing at Beez’s little set up. “Could be interesting.” 

“Interesting? Why would that be interesting to you? You’re the one with the job and the fancy-” Beez pulled a sour face, “things. Suits. Why do you want to know about a farmer’s market?” 

“I’m, er, nnng, well, I might stick around on a more permanent basis.” Crowley ducked his head, knowing that even with his glasses on Beez would be able to read the sheepishness in his expression. He glanced over his shoulder, catching the blur of white far behind him, still chattering with the knitting woman. “I’m thinking of staying.” 

“You serious? Why would you do that?” Beez asked. They tugged him behind the table so he would be out of the way of any customers approaching. “You’ve got that job in the city-” 

“Yeah, quit. I quit,” Crowley whispered. He scrubbed at his chin with his free hand. “Mid-life crisis, I think.” 

Beez snickered. “You’ve got the car for it.” 

“Yeah, true.” 

“So what are you going to do now? Lurk about here with the poor? You got out of here. Don’t come back,” Beez told him. Crowley shrugged. 

“Look, I’ve got to stay in town for a little while, anyway. Sort out some stuff with my parents estate. Seems sort of stupid to call it an estate, not like they had much, anway. I’ll figure it out from there,” Crowley said. He felt defeated. If one of his best mates couldn’t understand, how was anyone else supposed to? 

Fuck them, if they didn’t but that sure as shit felt like the lonely way of doing things.

He felt his phone buzz in his jacket pocket, and he tugged it out to glance at a message from Luc. He rolled his eyes. “I gotta go, Beez. I’ll come back later, maybe.” 

Beez’s expression read ‘boredom’ but there was a sense of knowing lurking behind it. They didn’t believe him for a minute that it was as casual as he made it out to be. It made Crowley uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to having people care about him, not in the last few years anyway. 

“Sure. Later,” Beez said. 

He texted Luc back, hoping to deter the man from whatever he was planning and then decided that while he was there, and the sun was shining, he would peruse some of the other booths. The displays were all very different but also similar in that the majority of the vendors were selling food. There were booths of bread and pastry, the wool vendor, Beez’s honey and a few other things. There was nothing _green_ , though. It was a nice little gap in the market to be aware of. 

He lingered over a cheese booth, ignoring the buzzing in his pocket along with most of his surroundings. He was lost in his own head. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Aziraphale said, appearing just next to Crowley’s elbow. His eyes were bright and he leaned close so he could murmur, “The rest of the booth is quite lovely but stay away from the port wine. Last summer it gave us all food poisoning and nearly took half the town out. Several people had to be hospitalized.” 

“I- I, erm. I wasn’t really looking,” Crowley managed. He could feel Beez’s eyes on him from across the park and he was glad there seemed to be more people now so they couldn’t come and interrupt. Crowley made the mistake of looking at Aziraphale again. He was just as adorable as he’d always been. Not much had changed, really. His hair still stuck up at all angles and he was dressed like an extra in a Regency romance film. He looked so good it almost hurt.

“Hmm, well. Just in case, it can never hurt to be informed,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley cleared his throat and forced himself to look away. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

“Are you- Are you alright, my de-I mean, I’m.” Aziraphale paused, shifting his bags in his hands. It seemed he’d purchased quite a lot of things. “Have you been well? I didn’t get to ask you the last time we spoke.” 

“Yeah. Great.” It sounded hollow. “You?” 

“Oh, well, yes. It’s been,” Aziraphale hesitated, looking around, “just lovely being back in town.” 

Crowley snorted and then laughed. “You’re a wretched liar, angel.” 

He turned away from the booth then and started to walk away. He was not ready for a conversation with Aziraphale, not with everything going on. Quitting the firm, dealing with his parents stuff- it was all a little more than stressful. 

“You still call me that. After all this time,” Aziraphale said, following him anyway. “I would have thought that you’d have come up with something less flattering.” 

“Hmm, well, whoever angels were such good things, anyway? Seem a little pretentious and bastardly to me. Knocking up unsuspecting virgins and wielding flaming swords,” Crowley remarked. Aziraphale gasped. 

“Don’t be vulgar, Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded. “You, ehm. You’ve changed your name as well.” 

“Changed a lot of things,” Crowley said. 

“I can see that,” Aziraphale replied.

“Yeah, well. Wouldn’t want to _embarrass_ anyone,” Crowley snapped, picking up the speed of his stride. 

“Crowley! You never embarrassed me!” Aziraphale sputtered. He reached out and gripped Crowley’s arm. The taller man’s head rolled back. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Crowley said. 

“Really!” Aziraphale took a deep breath in, holding for a second before letting it out, frustration rolling in the sigh. “We said a lot of things we both didn’t mean, or so I’ve always thought. You’ve never embarrassed me, Crowley. If you thought that, I apologize.” 

His face was so sincere it made Crowley want to squirm. He managed a shrug that he hoped looked as tepid as he meant it to. “S’fine, angel. You don’t need to apologize to me. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” 

“You’re wrong. I owe you many apologies. You were always so much freer than I was, Crowley, and I- I should have been braver.” Aziraphale’s eyes looked glossier than they had any right to. The last thing that Crowley wanted to do on this particular morning was make Aziraphale _cry_. The angel cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows hopefully. “So, you’re still here. Are you going to stay much longer?” 

Crowley sighed. “Yeah. Couple of weeks, at least. Maybe a bit longer.” 

“We could, well, we could do something, perhaps. Maybe we could go out to eat or, or have coffee. I’d like to know what you’ve been up to, my dear,” Aziraphale said, feeling his cheeks flush as the old endearment rolled off his tongue. It felt strange to hear it. 

Crowley wanted to say no. He wanted to reject him just as much as he’d been rejected, but something in the sincerity of Aziraphale’s attitude changed his mind. He shrugged. “We’ll see. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.” 

His phone started to buzz again in his pocket, and he knew without looking that there was another impatient message waiting for him from Luc.

“Gotta grab that. I’ll see you later, angel,” Crowley said. He pulled out his phone, dialing the office, as he left Aziraphale. He put his phone to his ear. “What?” 

“So tense, darling,” Luc purred. “You said that I could call you if I need you. Turns out I need you.” 

“Luc, we’ve been over this,” Crowley started but his eyes were caught by movement in the distance. It was Luc, leaning up against his car, waving at him. 

“Now, I know I saw you talking to that funny little man, but I’ve positively rescued you so if you please. Come along, we have so much to talk about,” Luc purred. Crowley sighed and ended the call, pocketing his phone. 

“Lucian, I told you, I’m not really interested in continuing-” 

Crowley was yanked forward, and their bodies pressed together. Luc’s expression was sharp and hungry. 

“You’ve said a lot of things, Anthony. This time you’re going to _listen_ ,” Luc said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been fine-tuning the tags on this fic as it's turned a little bit darker than the average rom-com, but don't worry, I DO intend to inject a lot of softness . It's just another case of 'I started something that turned out differently than I meant for it to'. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The usual.

Aziraphale’s family lived in a fairly large home that had been in their family for generations. Traditions and rules bound them together, or so he had been raised to believe. Blood before water and all that. The house itself had always been more formal than comforting, which was sad, really, as his ex-boyfriends had more minimalist tastes and were never inclined to let him make things as cozy as he preferred them to be. At least in his family home, his bedroom could be moderately comfortable, whereas living with his last partner hadn’t suited him at all because the man had come with a fully furnished home and dictated exactly how it was and was not to be decorated. 

Gabriel tried to do that to him, too, but nothing could truly stop Aziraphale from furnishing his own bedroom exactly as he wanted it, although the long stares of disapproval was something he could live without. 

That’s not to say he didn’t enjoy compromise, of course. When one was in some sort of relationship, compromise was to be expected. He wanted his past partners to be happy, to want to be around him, and if keeping their joint living spaces minimal and uncluttered was what pleased them, then Aziraphale was usually only too happy to oblige. 

It’s just there was this part that niggled at him, hinting that it hadn’t quite been as much of a compromise as he’d thought. Sometimes he wondered when it would be his turn, after all. 

Their mother’s kitchen was white and baby blue. It reminded Aziraphale of a pediatrician’s office. White cabinetry, sleek modern appliances, none of which were ever used because none of them could really cook anything beyond Gabriel using a food processor for some sort of fitness-shake-thing he liked to drink. Azirapahle often ate out at restaurants in town to avoid pointed comments about his waistline, anyway. 

But it was morning and he desperately wanted tea without leaving the house. Usually he even preferred leaving for his morning beverages, but just once he wanted to sit in bed and sip a cup of tea while enjoying a good book.

He slipped into the kitchen, hoping that Gabriel was already out for the day. Every appliance seemed too loud as he filled the electric kettle and settled it back on it’s little stand. 

“Ah! Aziraphale!” 

The teaspoon he’d been arranging on a saucer clattered onto the worktop. “Good morning, Gabriel. How was your run?” 

“Fantastic! Aziraphale, you should really consider coming with me one morning. I’d take it slow for you, until you got used to it!” Gabriel beamed at him with too-white teeth. Aziraphale gave him a polite smile. 

“Yes. Perhaps. I was just making some tea, would you like some?” Aziraphale offered. He’d purchased 

Gabriel snorted. “No. You _know_ I gave up caffeine last year.” 

“It’s, well. We have some decaffeinated ones,” Aziraphale said. He hadn’t really wanted Gabriel to join him, anyway, he was just being polite but he hadn’t meant to assume that- 

“No, it’s fine. You should really consider cutting back, too. You seem-” Gabriel waved his hand in Aziraphale’s direction, a disgusted look on his face. “Jumpy.” 

“Hmm. Maybe you’re right. You know, I do think I could use some exercise,” Aziraphale said quickly, abandoning his saucer and hot water. “I’m just going to pop up and change before going out for a walk. I’ll see you later.” 

Gabriel just nodded, probably having already forgotten he was even talking to his brother. He had reached into the refrigerator looking for one of his imported bottles of water. Aziraphale sighed, taking the stairs back to his bedroom. Well, it looked like a bright and pleasant day outside. Perhaps a walk would do him good, anyway.

***

Crowley wasn’t able to get comfortable in this place, this town. His reasonable mind knew that the cottage he was renting was not the place where his father had died. It was not the scene of the crime that had happened all those years ago, where he’d been cast out and forgotten. So he should, in theory, have been mildly more comfortable. The town had changed and the old man was dead, but that didn’t stop him from feeling mildly unsettled. He hoped it would fade, eventually.

The style of the cottage was all wrong, he thought, as he looked around him. His flat in the city was all dark walls, shadowy corners and imposing artwork. The furniture he preferred was sleek and sharp and not very comfortable at all. (Even the bed. On a few occasions he’d found himself curled on the floor instead of the bed but it _looked_ good and that was what mattered to him, at least the version of him that lived in the city.) 

This new place he was renting was appropriately plain, but with a lot of warm wood and exposed stone. Exposed masonry seemed to be a theme in the smallish town that was trying hard to be cooler than it actually was. Crowley didn’t hate it, though. He didn’t hate it and that was important.

The city flat was a reminder of the hold his job had on him. The suffocation, the feeling of drowning. Even though the cottage was small, it felt freer than he’d felt in a long time. 

He felt like he could breathe here. 

The kitchen of the cottage had nice big windows and a glass-paned door that led out into a little garden. It would have been nice if it were closer to spring. Inside, the kitchen was small, but boasted an island-thing with a large open space so you could look out into the living room if you wanted. The kind of thing that came with two little white bar stools on the sitting room side so your guests could, presumably, sit down and talk to you while you cooked. 

Not that Crowley planned to be entertaining much. 

He let himself stand in the kitchen, staring out the window, for ages. He watched the morning sun glint off of hints of frost that remained on the grass. The garden had been the real draw of this place. If he stayed, if he could somehow make peace with being here, he could see that there was _potential_.

His lips twisted down, remembering something Aziraphale had said back in school. About Crowley’s dreams and how he was always scheming something. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his phone on the counter, rattling and lighting up with text notifications. The leash was tightening around his throat, but not for much longer. 

That was a problem for another day.

With his reverie broken, he decided to take a bit of a walk. Get some fresh air on his face, clear out his lungs before he started itching for a cigarette. 

He was just shutting the front gate so he could start down the lane when he saw a tartan-coated figure ahead of him. He hissed inwardly, through his nostrils, blowing out a cloud of steam as he considered his options. He had choices to make. He could continue punishing Aziraphale for something that happened when they were both just young and stupid or-

Well. Crowley never liked having unanswered questions, anyway, and the only way to get answers was to ask in the first place.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” Crowley called, shoving his naked hands into the tight pockets of his jeans, making sure to swing his hips with just a little more flair than usual. Aziraphale started, but his surprise was quickly replaced with a sweet smile. 

“Oh, hello, Crowley. Still in town, I see.” 

“Yeah, much to your displeasure,” Crowley said. The other man shook his head. 

“No, no. Quite the contrary, I assure you. I spent a great deal of time missing your company,” Aziraphale said. Crowley merely raised an eyebrow and continued walking. “Of course I did, you idiot. We’d spent almost every day together. I- I missed you! Quite intensely.” 

“Go on, tell me another.” 

“It’s true!” Aziraphale insisted. Crowley scoffed, knowing it would annoy Aziraphale to no end, and a quick glance showed he was right. Some things never changed. 

“Well. That’s a thing, then.” 

Aziraphale huffed, and a long moment passed in silence before he spoke again. “Did you, ah. That is to say, did you, perhaps, think of me from time to time as well? You didn’t seem to know me the first day you were here.” 

His eyebrows were raised expectantly, a hopeful look in his eyes. Crowley smirked. 

“Might’ve done. Dunno, angel, I think of an awful lot of things,” Crowley said. The hopeful puppy-eyes were replaced with a sour pout. “I thought this was the last place you’d ever come back to. I reckoned once you were gone, you were gone for good.” 

“Yes, well. I could say the same about you,” Aziraphale countered coolly. “What have you been up to? You must find it boring here.” 

Ugh, small talk. The last thing he wanted to do was have _small talk_ with someone who’d managed to break his heart worse than most exes. Even if it was twenty odd years ago. Crowley stopped, letting Aziraphale get a step or two in front of him, before angling his body back in the direction they’d just come from. Towards his place.

“Where’re you off to right now, angel?”

“Oh. Just out for a stroll. I thought perhaps I’d stop by Anathema’s place for a cocoa. Why?” 

“Come back to mine. We’ll have a drink. Maybe catch up a bit,” Crowley said, shrugging his shoulders. 

“It’s a bit early for drinking, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“Hmm? Nahh. Besides, depends on what we’re drinking. I might’ve just meant coffee,” Crowley teased, waggling his eyebrows. Oh, this adorable little man in front of him. He really was considering Crowley’s proposition, with his soft hands twisting and everything. Crowley smiled at the sight, a small smile, more for himself than for anyone else. Aziraphale looked to the left and then the right before blinking up at him. 

“Won’t your, ehm. Your boyfriend object? He seems a bit, ah, possessive of you. And I get the oddest feeling that he doesn’t like me,” Aziraphale said, tilting his chin down. “I mean, I know there’s nothing that would go on between us but-” 

“My boy- Oh! You mean Luc. No, no, he’s nnnggg, he was but it’s not what you think. He’s my boss.” Crowley choked on the word. “Was, he _was_ my boss.” 

“My dear, if those sorts of public displays are what you do with your boss, I retract my question about what you do for a living,” Aziraphale said and this time Crowley barked a laugh. 

“Angel, that’s the second time you’ve called me a tart since I’ve been back. I’m starting to be offended.” 

This time, Aziraphale smirked. “You’re not really. You think it’s cool to look like a tart.” 

“Are you coming or not, angel?” Crowley said, and he turned and started to walk back to his cottage. He heard the scuffle of Aziraphale’s leather shoes as he started to follow. 

“I suppose a drink couldn’t hurt,” Aziraphale said. They fell silent as they made the short walk back to the cottage, with Crowley swinging his hips and Aziraphale walking so straight it appeared he had a stick up his arse. Crowley almost snickered out loud as he imagined having to take the man’s coat and then politely asking if he’d like the stick hung up as well. Shaking his head, and ignoring Aziraphale’s questioning eyes, he opened the cottage gate and then the door, stepping to the side to let Aziraphale pass first. 

“Temporary home sweet home,” Crowley said. 

It felt strange to have Aziraphale in any space of his. Back in the old days, they’d spent almost all of their time in the library or in the student lounge, or sometimes in random greasy spoons where Aziraphale would eat and Crowley would just stare at him. Never once had Aziraphale offered to visit the Hell Hole (which was the charming nickname Beez had given their shared residence) and he’d never, under any circumstances, been invited back to the Fell residence. Now the prissy angel stood in his sitting room, stepping around the rented furniture and wringing his hands nervously. 

Less than an hour after Crowley thought he wasn’t going to be entertaining anyone there. 

“Coffee?” Crowley asked, stripping off his coat. He threw it in the direction of an overstuffed chair. He motioned for Aziraphale to do the same with his coat, which earned him a look of disapproval. “I don’t have any cocoa.” 

“Or something stronger, perhaps?” 

Crowley turned around, eyebrows raised, lips pursed in a thoughtful expression. “Yeah. Yeah, could do with something stronger. Make yourself comfortable, angel.” 

He went into the little kitchen and fished around until he unearthed a bottle of brandy and two glasses. When he turned around, Aziraphale had placed himself at one of the bar stools, staring into the kitchen at him with an odd expression. If it were anyone else, he’d have bet money that he’d been checking out Crowley’s bum, but it was Aziraphale, after all. Crowley placed the two glasses on the island and started to pour. 

“How have you been?” Aziraphale asked. He placed both hands on the top of the island (‘snot really an island, is it? A bar, but like, a wide bar, maybe?), just the fingers, palms hovering above the marbled surface. He looked decidedly uncomfortable and more than a little tense. 

Crowley shrugged. If he wanted to continue this detestable small talk, he wasn’t going to make it easy on him. “Can’t complain. You? How is it being back here with your family?” 

“Frustrating, of course, but as you said, I can’t complain.” Aziraphale took his drink from Crowley, offering up a nervous smile. “You look good.” 

“You’ve said twice I look like a harlot. I’d hope that means good, otherwise I need to lower my prices,” Crowley drawled, taking a sip of his own drink. He could still hear the bitterness in his own voice, but he made sure to swivel his hips ever so slightly, anyway. “You look good, too.” 

“Don’t be silly, I look _old_ ,” Aziraphale chuckled. “As my brother is quick to point out.” 

“So he’s still a wanker, then. Glad to know some things never change,” Crowley joked. He groaned. “Look, angel-” 

“My dear, forgive the interruption, but if we’re going to have this conversation, perhaps.. Well, I don’t want to impose, but- Do you think you could take off your sunglasses?” Aziraphale asked in that breathy way he had. It was manipulative, he knew it always got him his way, but Crowley found it hard to mind. He hesitated, though, and Aziraphale began to back track. “I- oh dear, I’m sorry, if it makes you uncomfortable, I just wanted you to know it was- well, that with me you don’t have to-” 

“Nnnahh. S’fine. It’s not a big deal,” Crowley said, but his fingers were stiff and hesitating as he reached up to pull the sunglasses from their usual spot. He slid them off his face and folded them neatly, placing them on the bar top. It was amazing that, after all these years, he could still be nervous, could still feel utterly naked without them. 

“Lovely,” Aziraphale breathed without meaning to. His cheeks instantly heated up in flame and he took a nervous drink.

“Yeah, you always say that,” Crowley remarked. He knew what his eyes looked like, and he’d known loads of people who loved them. He also knew loads of people who thought they were creepy. Ever since that night, when his eye socket had been shattered by his own father, one pupil remained permanently dilated. Fucked with his depth perception and light sensitivity, and it made one of his eyes look bright yellow and the other look almost black where they’d once been a golden brown. There was still scarring on one of his cheek bones from that day. 

“Well, it’s always true. Crowley, I know I already apologized but-”

“Don’t, just. You said sorry, I said okay, let’s just forget it.” He picked up his glass and walked into the sitting room, leaving Aziraphale at the island-bar-thing. It forced the angel to twist and look at him as he flung himself on the sofa, sprawling back. “I’d rather hear about you. What have you been up to? How are you back here? What happened with the Professor?” 

“You’re always too full of questions,” Aziraphale scolded. “The Professor and I didn’t last very long, if you must know. He was so much older than I was, how could we? I was very naive back then, and he made me feel very worldly, you know. I felt so innocent compared to you. It was nice to feel mature, for a change.” 

“That’s a shame, then. Seems you two would’ve had a lot in common.” Crowley didn’t sound as though he thought it was a shame at all, and he didn’t. He swirled the liquid in his glass before taking another sip. “How did-” 

“Wait, wait. It hardly seems fair that you ask me so many personal questions and I don’t get to hear anything about what you’ve been doing.” 

Crowley considered that. He had a point, but at the same time, in Crowley’s world, ‘fair’ wasn’t a thing that ever happened. “Alright, tell you what. We’ll trade. Like an arrangement of sorts. You ask a question, I’ll give you an answer, but then I get a question. Anything goes, no rules, nothing off limits.”

“But you have to tell the truth,” Aziraphale added. Crowley cracked a smile.

“Why? You wouldn’t know if I was lying, anyway.” 

“I’d like to think that I would,” Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley considered that. At one point it might have been true, but that was two decades and a lot of experience ago. “The man you were with was quite attractive. You said he was your boss?” 

Crowley smirked. “You could just ask what you really want to know.” 

“I’m not quite sure what you mean.” 

“You want to know if we were _fucking_ , angel. We had a mutually beneficial arrangement that is now over,” Crowley said firmly, taking a drink. He grinned, but without his glasses, Aziraphale could see it didn’t touch his eyes.

“Sounds lonely,” Aziraphale said. 

“No lonelier than whatever it is you’re doing. Are you actually living with your family or are you at least in a flat somewhere?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale’s guilty expression said it all. Crowley gaped incredulously. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Aziraphale.” 

“It was the less expensive option, and it’s not like we’re all under one roof. Mother is always travelling, so it’s mostly just Gabriel and I. Michael was married a few years ago and left,” Aziraphale explained. 

“So you just live there with that bastard controlling everything you do again?” 

“You don’t under-” Aziraphale caught himself, not even close to in time. They both froze, the fragile moment hanging over them, as precious as bone china and four times as brittle. Aziraphale finally made the move, clearing his throat. “That’s more than one question, I believe.” 

Crowley smirked, but his eyes looked sad. He stood, moving closer to the island so he could grab the bottle and pour a little bit more in his glass. He perched his skinny arse on the stool next to Aziraphale. “S’a stupid game, anyway.” 

“Either way, it’s my turn.” Aziraphale finished the rest of his drink and helped himself to a refill as well. “Are you still in your band?”

“Of course not. We all grow up, face reality, angel. Get boring jobs, stare at computer screens until our eyes bleed.” 

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “That sounds… depressing.” 

“It is,” Crowley agreed with a sigh. “Why are you so keen to talk to me again?” 

“I missed you, I said,” Aziraphale said. His eyes glanced away. 

“Could’ve called me anytime, angel. But you didn’t.” 

Aziraphale huffed, and it was his turn to be uncomfortable. “What do you do for a living now? Are you a musician?” 

“Technically two questions, but I’ll give it to you, anyway. I quit the Worms after you left. Switched majors, took some business courses. I’m a marketing exec, or I was until a few weeks ago,” Crowley took another long drink. He answered the third, unasked question in Aziraphale’s expression. “I quit.” 

“Oh, well. It must have been a relief.” 

“It’s something. So after the professor, what did you do then?” 

“Many things. I met someone and fell in love. We were together for a long time and then we broke up. I restore books, but it’s not the most reliable source of income, even if it does pay well when there is work, so I moved back in with my family,” Aziraphale explained. Crowley’s brows knit together in confusion. 

“Sounds like there’s more to that story, angel,” Crowley said, but he didn’t push it. Perhaps that was the issue with him. He’d never pushed Aziraphale, and the one time he tried it had ended their friendship. 

“There really isn’t. It’s all very boring, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said with a sad sigh. 

“Mmhmm. Tell me another one.” 

“That wouldn’t be very sporting. It’s my turn, after all,” Aziraphale replied. Crowley barked a laugh. 

“Hit me with your best shot, then.” 

“Do you… do you think we could be friends again?” Aziraphale asked. His eyes were so big and pleading.

Crowley groaned and leaned forward, placing his glass down on the kitchen island. “Sappy question, that. Yeah. I think we could be.” 

Aziraphale nodded, taking another sip from his glass before placing it down as well. “I should be going, really. Wouldn’t want to wear out my welcome.” 

“You’re always welcome, wherever I am, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, but he was pushing himself to his feet to show him out. 

“You’re going to be here for a little while, yes? That’s what you said to Madame Tracy,” Aziraphale asked, following him to the door. 

“I’m not going to answer that,” Crowley said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He grinned at Aziraphale's indignant look. “You’ve already asked your question. It’s my turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr. No, seriously, I love to make friends and I'm never not online.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW WARNINGS: Please read this chapter as "Two Times Aziraphale Overheard Something He Wasn't Supposed To". Also, Crowley seems to be drinking in this a lot but hey it's pretty canon typical behavior imo. 
> 
> End of chapter gets a little sexy, so skip the Past section if you don’t want to read an Ace trying to write light smut for their best friend’s birthday. Happy Birthday, MadMags.

_Present_

Crowley took a final drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could before exhaling, a dragon’s plume of smoke curling from his thin lips. He twisted the cigarette in his slender fingers, working the minute remainder of tobacco from the white paper, and then slid the toxic filter into his jeans pocket to throw away later. He looked up at the pub, which called itself a pub but was a hipster, micro-brew kind of place. The kind of place that charged too much for cheap food. He sighed to himself and went inside.

The bar was dim inside, and Crowley had trouble navigating it with his glasses on (yet he was too stubborn to take them off, at this point). There were barely-lit edison bulbs hanging from bare wires over wooden tables, and the wall that the aged bar backed up against was covered in frames of God knows what- art? Photographs? But the one thing Crowley couldn’t help remarking on as he sidled up next to Beez was,

“What is with this town and the exposed brick?” He was muttering the remark mostly to himself. The walls weren’t quite brick, they were stone, but he was starting to feel concerned about the town contractor’s ability to finish walls. It wasn’t a bad look, especially with the exposed wooden beams above them. 

“It’s rustic,” Beez supplied in their usual flat, bored tone. “It’s s’posed to be charming.” 

“Is it? Seems a bit half-arsed, if you ask me,” Crowley said. He lifted a hand to signal the bartender and ordered an ‘artisan’ whiskey. He should’ve ordered something softer, like wine, but he was used to his drinks being attached to his image, his persona, and it changed depending on who he was with. Beez knew a different side of him than Luc did, for example. With Beez, he ordered whiskey. “Bit concerning to someone looking for property in the area to think they guy who builds everything can’t put up a proper wall.” 

“You stickin’ around _is_ concernin’,” Beez drawled. They leaned forward, tilting their head to the side as they stared at Crowley. “This have something to do with that pouf? Sources say you’ve been seeing him again.” 

Crowley frowned into his whiskey before bringing the glass to his lips. “Sources? What sources?” 

Beez just shook their head. “Never mind that. I want to know if you’re really that stupid.” 

“Don’t call him a pouf,” Crowley muttered. The drink was burning his throat and settling uncomfortably in his stomach. He was too anxious tonight to be drinking, but he’d already had the nicotine so in for a penny, as they say. Beez just continued to blink at him. It was a tactic they used when they wanted more information but didn’t want to ask, and damned if it didn’t work every time. Crowley hunched further down, curling his shoulders. He ducked his chin closer to his chest. “I wanted to know why he left. Why he didn’t trust me, you know?”

“He broke your fucking heart,” Beez said. “You don’t get to come back after that.” 

“Excuse you, nosy Beez, but I think I can make those decisions for myself,” Crowley snapped. His fingers slid up under his lenses to press against his eyelids. He was frustrated with the entire conversation. They were just supposed to be having fun. If this was how it was going to be every time he saw them, maybe they were right and he didn’t need to stick around. “What if I was seeing him- nng, um. Socially, as friends. We had a lot to talk about.” 

“Yeah? Did you find out?” Beez asked. Crowley pulled his hands away to look at them, feeling just a little bit as though he had the breath knocked out of him. Luckily, his glasses hid how glassy his eyes felt. 

“Nah. Just reminisced,” Crowley admitted. “Felt really nice to talk to him. I missed him, Beez.” 

“S’not a movie,” they mused. “Nothin’ gets resolved and everything just gets more confusing.” 

“Exactly,” Crowley said slowly, sighing again like a lovesick lune. It wasn’t a movie or one of Aziraphale’s precious books. There wouldn’t be any romantic endings or movie-scene coincidental meetings-

“Crowley!” 

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice so loud, so close behind him and his heart thundered in his chest, hoping that Aziraphale hadn’t heard any of that. Crowley half-turned, glancing over his shoulder to find the angel standing there. In the dim shadows of the bar, Aziraphale was _glowing_. His standard palette of cream and beige, this time in the form of a pair of pleated khaki trousers and a soft-looking jumper with the collar of a freshly starched shirt peeping out of it. He was beautiful and Crowley fucking loved him for it.

Fuck!

Aziraphale seemed flustered, though. Crowley peered over the dark lenses of his glasses to see flushed cheeks and a nervous smile before pushing his glasses back up on his nose. “So good to see you, my dear! I just thought I’d say hello. I hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Nah, just getting a drink with Beez,” Crowley said, and he tilted his head towards his friend. “You know Beez, yeah?” 

“Ah, not officially, no, but I believe you have the honey stand at the market,” Aziraphale said, extending a hand. Beez stared at it. “I’m Aziraphale.” 

“Yeah, we all know who you are,” Beez drawled, picking up their half-empty pint glass to examine the liquid that remained inside. They took a rude sounding gulp. 

Aziraphale dropped his hand. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh God, Beez,” Crowley groaned. “Play nice!” 

“You don’t like me for my niceness,” Beez replied, lips tilted down as they swirled their drink. Crowley tried to ignore them. 

“You here for dinner, angel?” Crowley asked, and he tried to ignore how Beez started to chuckle meanly. 

“Ah! Yes, I’m- Well, Gabriel is out of town for a few days on business, so I thought I’d come out,” Aziraphale said with a hesitant nod. It pained Crowley to see him glance at Beez, as though he were waiting for a stranger to make the same comments his brother might make. “I just thought I’d say hello. Have a nice evening, dear boy.” 

“Wait, hang on, angel, you’re eating alone? You could join-” A look at Beez’s expression wiped that idea from Crowley’s lips. “Err.” 

“It’s alright. I’m meant to be meeting a friend, but I don’t see her, so I’ll just have a quiet dinner and go home. I truly didn’t mean to impose on you, I merely wanted to say hello,” Aziraphale said and he began to turn away. Crowley’s heart clenched.

“Wait! Angel, wait.” 

“Abandoning your friend for someone else? What a hero,” Beez droned, earning them a glare from Crowely. 

“S’not like you’ve been the best company,” Crowley sneered. Beez raised a glass to him. 

“Like I said, you’re not my friend because I’m nice. You’re my friend because I’m right.” 

Aziraphale’s soft, round fingers twisted together. He was already shaking his head as Crowley stood and picked up his glass. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to wait with me. I would feel quite awful about it.” 

“S’no trouble, angel. See ya, Beez.” 

“G’night, _Crawley_.” It seemed they couldn’t resist the jab, and Crowley leveled them with an angry, hard stare. He _hated_ that name now, and they knew it. He turned back to Aziraphale and motioned for the angel to go ahead. 

“I do hope you’re not arguing because of something I’ve done. I truly didn’t mean to break up your evening,” Aziraphale said as they walked away. There was a table in the corner, near a window that looked out onto the dark streets, that Aziraphale had already been seated at. There was a single roll of silverware and one menu. 

“Nah. Well. Hmmmnn. Not exactly. I said don’t worry about it. I did say that, didn’t I? Don’t worry about it.” 

Aziraphale seated himself at the table with a wiggle, scooting his chair close. He watched with raised eyebrows and big, soft eyes as Crowley collapsed into the chair across from him. 

“Not exactly?” he probed. Crowley rolled his eyes and groaned. 

“Not gonna let it go, are you,” he muttered. Aziraphale let out a single huff through his nose, his upper lip pulling back slightly. It was a bitter smile, and Crowley didn’t like the taste of it. 

“Now, my dear boy, you know me better than that,” Aziraphale hummed, glancing down at the menu with interest. His lips puckered slightly as he considered his options. Crowley could imagine the movements of his plump tongue inside, licking the flesh of his lower lip as he made his choices. 

“Oh. Well. S’fine. Beez lived in the Hole, you know. They found out before I did when you skipped town,” Crowley spat out. He didn’t mean to sound so bratty about it and he drained his glass to cover the burning feeling in his cheeks. He hated these emotional things. 

“I truly didn’t think you’d notice,” Aziraphale remarked blandly. When Crowley didn’t answer, his eyes glanced up. “Perhaps a little.” Crowley snarled. 

“Yeah, a bit.” 

They were interrupted by the approach of a server whose smile was entirely too bright. Crowley sneered at them for good measure. 

“Do you want anything, my dear?” Aziraphale asked after he’d placed an order for an appetizer and his entree. Crowley shook his head, but then thought better of it. He raised his empty glass. 

“Another of these,” he managed, telling the girl exactly what he’d ordered. Aziraphale frowned but then smiled to himself as the girl left.

“You never change,” he said. Crowley was having none of it.

“Nah. Nope, you wanted this talk, we’re having it. How could you think I wouldn’t notice? We spent every waking minute together, angel,” Crowley started as soon as he could trust himself to speak. Aziraphale’s teeth were showing, but he wasn’t smiling. He merely nodded. 

“You were very angry, Crowley,” he said. “And you had your band and your other friends. It’s not like me. I only had you.” 

Crowley couldn’t help but gape at the man. “Bollocks. You were always talking to other people.” 

“But they weren’t ever my friends. Not like you were,” Aziraphale insisted. “You had the other demons that you lived with, and Ligur. And Beez, apparently. You had people who cared about you. I didn’t. Or, it didn’t feel like it.” 

“I might’ve had other people, angel, but not like I had you,” Crowley muttered to himself, glancing across the room to where Beez was drinking alone. It looked like they were paying their tab to leave, and he felt a rush of guilt for leaving them alone, but not enough to do anything about it. “We were in practice, the night you left. Couldn’t get this one chord right, or something, and Beez just blurted out that I was hurt because my-” he choked on the word, “My, nngg, my angel had run off with some old bloke. Could’ve told me. I never would’ve judged you. ‘Specially not after that time you caught me-”

“Oh, my dear boy, we said we’d never speak of it again,” Aziraphale said, fanning his cheeks. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you.” 

“No, you said as much that day,” Crowley said, picking up his new glass as the server placed it down. He took a healthy swig. 

“I told you, it wasn’t that, Crowley. The words all came out wrong. I didn’t mean them,” Aziraphale told him. Crowley snickered. 

“Sure, sure, whatever you say, angel,” Crowley said.

_Past_

_A Week Before The Falling Out_

“Shit,” Crawley giggled into the firm, full lips of a girl. It was the kind of situation he really wanted to seem cool in, but he was going to fail miserably.

It was Aziraphale’s fault, really. He was the one who was interested in theater stuff, he was the one who’d volunteered both their time for set-painting things only to not show up. Stupid angel was the one who had a secret boyfriend that he was meeting, who left his lips swollen and lucious-looking from secret kisses…

Erin, the head of the drama club, had her mouth over one of his clothed nipples, gently rolling it between her teeth, and all he could think about was Aziraphale. That _bastard_. Of course, it didn’t help that Erin had a wild streak to match his own and wore her own curly hair short and bleached out. It wasn’t as beautifully white as his angel’s, but it still reminded Crawley of him. 

“Shh, they’ll hear you,” Erin said, sucking at a spot on his throat. The thrill of the thing, that was the important part. And Crawley had been so busy mooning over his best friend that he’d forgotten to get laid in a while. Which wasn’t as important but felt kind of nice now that he realized what he was missing. 

The thing was- oh, _bless it_ , she had a talented mouth. Her tongue laved over a certain spot- The thing- What was the thing?

Thing was, Erin had a friend named Thomas, who was also game and he was built about the same as Crawley, only a little more muscular. He was great at holding Crawley up and stroking strong hands down his thighs. And, apparently, he _loved_ to watch Erin work. Together, the three of them were making quite the mess of the costume closet. There were sequins _everywhere_.

“Come on, come on, off with this,” Erin said. Her hands swept up the skeletal planes of his chest, and pushed at the leather jacket he wore. He’d stolen it from the same costume room last year but they’d never missed it. She sucked a mark to his throat, finding a sensitive spot under his ear. 

“Fuck, let ‘em hear,” Crawley said as he allowed Erin to divest him of his outer shell. He wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. “Glasses stay _on_.” 

“Babe, you think that’s a problem? I brought you to a room full of mirrors, I have no problems looking at my own reflection,” Erin told him with a devious smirk. It was true. The costume closet doubled as the girls’ dressing room and there was an entire wall of mirrors, surrounded by large, bright bulbs that heated up the tiny room to a boiling degree. It was beyond pleasurable. 

“Come on, let’s get comfortable,” Thomas purred. He’d been grinding his hips teasingly against Crawley’s bony arse, the hard ridge in his jeans showing his apparent excitement. He started to move Crawley backwards, and he let himself be dragged along, pulled down onto an old sofa that was time-worn and more than a little bit holey. He could imagine that over the years several activities (like the ones they were getting up to) had taken place here. Thomas positioned Crawley on his lap in such a way that they were both in a comfortable sprawl and Thomas was able to continue his hypnotizing thrusts. 

Erin dropped to her knees, running her hands up Crawley’s denim-clad thighs. The look on her face was positively demonic and more than a little hungry. Her fingers flicked open the button and danced teasingly along the zipper before pulling Crawley out of his jeans. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. Since that time you came to class with that live snake on your shoulders,” Erin said. 

“You’ve got a bit of a snake on your hands now,” Crawley managed, unable to hold back another moan as she stroked him softly. 

“ _In_ my hands,” she corrected before swallowing him down. 

God, she was good at, um, snake charming, Crawley thought, but through the hazy feeling of heat pooling in his belly, he couldn’t help but think of his long-time wank fantasy. Those short blonde curls-

He was so close. Thomas was rubbing and massaging him with such care, more content to watch than to really participate, although his gyrating felt pretty wonderful, too. It had been so long and they were treating him so well-

“Good Lord!” 

Beneath his glasses, Crawley’s eyes snapped wide open. 

He hadn’t even heard the door open. 

“Angel!” came his whispered exclamation. 

Erin popped off and turned around to give the intruder a glare. “Shove off, mate.”  


Even though Crawley still wore his sunglasses, he could have sworn Aziraphale’s gaze met his. The expression there, it was something Crawley was familiar with but not directed at him and not from the angel. It was pure, raw hunger, like Aziraphale was staring at a feast he couldn’t have. Crawley’s lashes fluttered, his cheeks heated up. He’d never felt more exposed. 

“No.” Aziraphale’s voice was low and firm, and Crowley shivered hearing it. Rarely he’d been treated to the actual backbone that lived beneath the layers of fluff and it was a treat, a fucking delight, every time he got to hear THAT voice. It was a command. “Finish him.” 

Erin twisted to look back up at Crawley. 

“Alright?” she asked, shrugging. 

Oh yeah. Only a decade or so’s fantasies coming true, albeit in a different way than he’d ever expected. Crawley could only swallow and nod. Erin’s lips curved into a smile once more and she had her fingers wrapped around him again, bringing Crawley back to full hardness in no time. This time, as she began, Crawley wasn’t focused on anything other than the stare that Aziraphale leveled at him. 

He came embarrassingly fast. 

Whatever had possessed Aziraphale to stay had, in the instant Crowley came, left him, and he bolted from the room. Unfortunately for Erin and Thomas, when Aziraphale was upset nothing else mattered to Crowley and he flung his clothes on and took off, leaving them to continue (or not) on the sofa without him. He looked all over campus, but he could not, for the life of him, find his friend. 

The next day, he had two coffees in hand in the slim hope he’d find Aziraphale in the student lounge. And there he was, chatting away with some other students as always, beaming his bright smiles. Crawley stood, looking in through the glass wall, wondering if he should interrupt. Thomas’s reflection showed in the glass as he sidled up to Crawley, joining him in his staring. 

“You know, he’s cute. I thought you two were a thing,” Thomas said, pushing his dark hair out of his face to look in at Aziraphale. Crawley sighed, glancing down at the coffees in his hand. He didn’t want to interrupt the angel, not when he was having fun. Crawley glanced over at Thomas and offered up one of the coffees in his hand. 

“Warning, s’a bit sweet,” Crawley said. Thomas grinned, taking the cup from him. 

“I like things a bit sweet,” Thomas said with a shrug. “What’s your major again? I don’t think I ever asked.” 

“Botany. Well, sort of. You know, Plant Bio but it’s all the same, innit?” Crawley looked back at Aziraphale, taking a sip of his drink. The blonde had finally looked in their direction but quickly looked away again, only offering Crawley the tensest of smiles. 

“You know, if you’re going to do the open relationship thing, you should really work out your rules ahead of time. He was kind of awkward yesterday,” Thomas said. Crowley winced. 

“We’re just friends,” he said, repeating the line he’d told himself over and over. 

“Yeah, only friends. Sure.” Thomas didn’t speak for a moment, but then he leaned in and wrapped his arm around Crawley’s waist. “Maybe we could be friends, too.” 

Aziraphale was very staunchly refusing to look at them. Crowley sighed, but he didn’t pull away from Thomas. He knew that Aziraphale didn’t have feelings for him, and that he was definitely staying in the closet for the time being. Not that it had ever mattered to Crawley whether the world knew about them or not. 

It felt nice to have a warm body to cling to, though. 

“Yeah. Maybe,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr. No, seriously, I love to make friends and I'm never not online.
> 
> I'm also posting a historical Good Omens/Sherlock fic right now called Silk & Lace. It's my first go at a ghost story/murder mystery kind of thing and I'm really excited about it.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No additional tags I can think of at this present time.

The house was quiet once more, with the mid-morning sunlight streaming through their spacious foyer as Aziraphale crept down the stairs. His leather soled shoes barely made a sound on the carpet. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was once more sneaking out of his own home in an attempt to not have to speak to his brother. There were already so many thoughts crammed into his mind, thoughts of Crowley, of the things they should talk about and the things they haven’t talked about, that he didn’t want to be interrupted as he tried to sort them out. 

“Ah! Aziraphale, you’re just the person I was looking for,” Gabriel said, coming out of the room he’d claimed as an office. It was once their father’s den, and it might have made a nice reading room but Gabriel didn’t like to be disturbed by ‘loud breathing’ on the rare occasions he worked from home. 

Aziraphale hated the way his spine stiffened at the sound of his own brother’s voice, but he managed to plaster a stiff, fake smile on his face before he looked at him. “M-Me? You were looking for me?” 

“Yes, I just wanted to let you know that we’re selling the property. Shouldn’t take too long, so you may want to stop frivolous spending,” he drawled out the word ‘spending’ with his eyebrows raised quite pointedly, and Aziraphale thought of how he was on his way to Anathema’s, “and secure a new living space soon.” The older Fell started to turn and go back into his office.

“I-I What?” Aziraphale floundered. He took a step forward, but stopped abruptly as Gabriel turned back to him. “You’re selling the house? The house that we’re currently standing in?” 

Gabriel blinked at him, and it made Aziraphale feel quite stupid. “Um, yeah. The house we’re currently standing in. What other house is there?” 

“But- But you can’t!” Aziraphale protested weakly. His soft fingers twisted together in front of him. Gabriel frowned, and he took a few steps toward Aziraphale himself. The cold cheer in his eyes faded into a glare. 

“There’s really nothing you can do about it. Mother has decided to continue travelling and I’ve been offered a new job in America, so I’m moving back there. Business here isn’t what it used to be. It’s time to cut our losses and move on,” Gabriel said. He had a way of looking at Aziraphale as if he should have been on the same page as Gabriel, despite the fact that Gabriel was privy to more information that Aziraphale currently had. 

“You can’t just sell the house, though. I live here,” Aziraphale protested. 

“And now you won’t?” Gabriel said with a casual shrug. “Maybe it’s time to think about that, buddy. You can’t keep freeloading here forever.” 

Aziraphale’s cheeks burned. He hadn’t thought of it as ‘freeloading’. He’d thought of it as…

Well. He didn’t quite know what he’d been doing up until this point. Recovering, perhaps. He knew what his intentions were when he moved in. He’d meant to be piecing himself back together after his last relationship. He’d meant to be figuring out what his next career step was. 

“Aziraphale.” 

Gabriel’s voice cut through his frantic thoughts. 

“Anyway,” Gabriel drawled. “We’ve already got an interested buyer, so you might want to get on that.” 

“Ah. Y-Yes, of course,” Aziraphale stammered. Gabriel had already dismissed him and was going back into his office, closing the door behind him. The world around Aziraphale spun for a moment before he decided to put himself back on the course he’d already been on and go to Anathema’s.

***

“Aziraphale!” Anathema tapped her foot impatiently, looking over at the little window-side table where Aziraphale always sat. She decided to try again. “Aziraphale!”

He didn’t even look at her. She took a second to observe her friend. He seemed even more undone than he usually did. His hair was wild and a little frizzy, which implied a long walk prior to coming into the shop, and his shoes were a little bit muddy. His eyes stared out of the window, and she could tell he wasn’t really focused on where he was. 

Anathema huffed and looked back at Newt. “Watch the register and try not to burn anything down.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Newt promised, pushing his glasses back up on his nose while blushing. Anathema rolled her eyes and picked up the cup of cocoa that Aziraphale had been waiting for. Even when he’d ordered, he’d seemed distracted, like he didn’t know what he wanted and that was unusual because when it came to food, Aziraphale always had some idea of what he wanted. Or, at least he usually had it narrowed down to the two or three things he wanted.

Anathema was very fond of Aziraphale, and it worried her when he wasn’t himself. Even on his off days, he stood at the end of the counter and waited for his drink- ‘so he didn’t inconvenience anyone’. That was one of his more unpleasant traits. He never wanted to inconvenience anyone. He came in during slow times so he wouldn’t hold up the queue, with his hands wringing in front of him nervously. It was like he was afraid to take up space or he was holding himself back, away from other people, for some reason. Just once, she wanted her friend to ask for something- something big. Something that he _wanted_.

She picked up the cup of cocoa and headed over to his table.

“Hey!” Anathema said, putting the drink down in front of him a little too hard. Aziraphale started, and she felt bad for pulling him out of his thoughts. It wasn’t in her nature to make anything easy, however, especially if it felt like some kind of enabling. “You okay?” 

“Oh! I’m fine. Just tickety boo,” Aziraphale managed, trying to smile at her but his eyes remained unaffected. She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms under her chest.

“Yeah, I think that’s the same as when I say I’m ‘peachy keen’. Newt!” Anathema whipped her head back to the counter, startling the poor man as he practically jumped to attention. “What’s it mean when I’m peachy keen?” 

“Run,” Newt replied with a confident nod, as though she’d quizzed him on this subject before. She had.

“Good boy,” Anathema said. She huffed and slid into the seat across from Aziraphale. “Spill. What’s going on? What are you upset about?” 

“It’s noth-” he started, but she cut him off.

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You’re allowed to have feelings, Aziraphale. It’s healthy,” Anathema said, trying to soften her tone. She reached out and took his hand, rolling her fingers over his knuckles a few times before digging into the meat of his palm. The tension in his hand was immense and the skin felt tight. “You should probably drink some water.” 

“Oh! Oh, my dear, that feels-” 

“I know, I know. I spent a summer giving hand massages in a salon back home.” Anathema leveled him with a hard look, one of her most intimidating, and hardened her tone as she let her fingers work. “Now. Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

Aziraphale was smart enough to know that she wouldn’t give up. “If you insist.” 

“I do.” 

“Gabriel is throwing me out of the house,” Aziraphale said, and his lip trembled slightly. “It seems his business here is going rather poorly and he’s moving back to America. Mother supports his decision.” 

Anathema’s hands paused. “Oh, I thought you were going to say something else.” 

“Did you?” Aziraphale asked, raising his eyebrows. He took his hand back only to put forward his other, wiggling his fingers. “They need to match.” 

Anathema huffed, lips twitching as she picked up his other hand and started to work at the tense muscles. “What are you going to do?” 

“I haven’t the faintest. I’m practical enough that I saved some money, but not as much as I should have. I- I suppose I just got cozy here and it never occurred to me that one day this wouldn’t be an option anymore,” Aziraphale murmured. Anathema nodded, letting her thumb press hard into one particularly stiff spot. 

“It’s an easy trap to fall into. You don’t have to think about where to go or what to do because you know your family will never throw you out. You just need to keep your head down and not make any trouble,” Anathema said, summing up his problems entirely too well for someone he only ordered coffee from. He said as much and she grinned. “The problem with being a barista is that people treat you kind of like a therapist. You learn some stuff about clocking character traits. Same thing for bartenders and hairdressers.”

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale said. This time he took his hands back and folded them together on the table in front of him. “I don’t mean to be a bother.” 

“You’re not bothering me at all. We’re friends, don’t you think? And if you’re uncomfortable talking to me you know that Tracy is your friend, too. We’re here for you, you just have to ask us.” Anathema propped her elbow on the table, cupping her chin with her hand as she leaned forward. She didn’t want to push him too hard. “You just tell us what we can do and we’ve got you.” 

“Ah. Well. I’m not very good with ‘having friends’,” Aziraphale said, wriggling uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes went back to the street, as if he was looking for something. She was about to reprimand him for the self-deprecating remark but then it occurred to her that this was his way of telling her what he wanted.

“Is this about Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous?” Anathema guessed. “The one that’s been roaming around with the hot car and creepy boyfriend?” Sometimes her early hours kept her out of the town gossip loop but Tracy had been raving about the handsome redhead that kept buying random trinkets in her shop. She’d been desperately excited to tell Anathema all about the row that Aziraphale and said redhead had been having on the street a little while ago. 

Aziraphale’s blush told her all she needed to know.

“Alright. A few nights ago, I decided to have dinner down at the pub and Crowley was there. Only, he was speaking to someone else and his back to me. I wanted to say hello, so I-” Aziraphale fidgeted in his seat and his blush deepened. “I, oh dear, I-I think I might have overheard something that I wasn’t meant to hear.” 

Anathema frowned, her forehead wrinkling as she followed along. “What did you hear?” 

The fidgeting increased tenfold. “I heard that I broke his heart.” 

That was _not_ what she’d been expecting and the surprise showed on her face. Her lips parted. “What? When?” 

“It’s a rather long story, I’m afraid, and it’s all- It seems so silly, in the face of the news I received this morning, but we were friends when we were younger. You know that I sort of left without giving anyone any notice, and I didn’t say good-bye to him. I, well, um. I didn’t tell him I was leaving. And we were rather close. He was much more hurt than I expected him to be,” Aziraphale explained. 

Anathema’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s not true.” 

Aziraphale blinked at her. “Pardon?” 

“You’re lying. That’s not true.” It annoyed her that he was still holding his cards so close to his chest, even after she’d assured him he could trust her. Logically, she knew that trust took longer than one cup of cocoa but she was still allowed to be annoyed at flat-out untruths. “There’s something else that you’re not saying.” 

Aziraphale deflated. His shoulders slumped and he hunched over. He stared at his own hands for a few seconds before saying, “I might have known it would hurt him. It’s just, it wouldn’t work, you know. He was the sweetest friend and such a-a _nice_ person. Something happened, just before I left, and I-I think I realized the depth of his feelings for me. But I left anyway.” 

“Something sexy happened and you realized your crush wasn’t one-sided,” Anathema summed up perceptively. Aziraphale’s eyes lifted up to glare at her, which she received with delight. 

“If you know so much about it, dear girl, maybe you’d like to tell the story,” Aziraphale snapped. She grinned. 

“You should do that more often. That mean thing. It suits you,” Anathema told him as she continued to smile. “I could tell you this story, sweetie. It happens to a lot of people. You’ve been trained to believe you’re not worth anything so you sabotage yourself when someone pays any kind of decent attention to you. I’m a girl, babe. Pop culture banks on this kind of thing happening to us all the time. But, Aziraphale, nobody's perfect and no matter what pedestal you put this guy on. You deserve to be loved. That’s a thing you’re allowed to have.” 

“I just hurt him so much,” Aziraphale whispered. His eyes cast down again. “You didn’t see him last night. He was quite upset. I don’t know, I suppose that I thought by now it wouldn’t hurt as much, perhaps. It’s been quite a long time.” 

Anathema didn’t look impressed. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms again, looking like a very stern school teacher in her high-necked blouse. “Does it still hurt you?” 

Flustered, Aziraphale blinked and knit his brow together. “Of course it does.” 

“Then why would you think it wouldn’t hurt him? If he’s such a great guy and he liked you so much, stands to reason he’s probably going to be upset. Especially if it was such a dramatic exit.” She raised an eyebrow, knowing that she was right. “It’s a little bit self-centered to assume you’re the only one with feelings here.” 

“I- I can’t argue with that logic,” Aziraphale murmured.

“But you want to. And that speaks to bigger issues than ‘does this guy like me back’,” Anathema said, making air quotations with her fingers. She sat up a little straighter and scooted forward in her chair again, leaning close. “Look, I’m just your friendly neighborhood barista, but-” 

“Oh, my dear, you’re so much more than that,” Aziraphale told her, seizing her hand in his own. She rolled her eyes.

“I appreciate that. And I know I’m probably overreaching my boundaries, but I just think you might want to consider talking to a professional, especially with this whole thing your family is pulling.” She watched his expression twist into an affronted frown and she squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Hey, it’s just a suggestion. Consider it. You can always still talk to me, too.” 

“Well. I’ll think about it,” Aziraphale said. He pursed his lips. 

“I usually don’t get this involved in my customer’s lives, but I consider you a friend. And I want you to be happy. You’ve been moping around this place for too long,” Anathema teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Besides, if you and that gorgeous ginger get married, we could cater.” 

“Oh! Oh, dear, I don’t think-” 

“Hey, keep an open mind. You never know what could happen between now and next month, much less next year,” Anathema told him, patting his hand as she released it. When she spoke again, her voice was playfully raised. “I better get back behind the counter before he blows up the espresso machine!” 

“One time, it caught fire one time!” Newt objected from where he stood, carefully wiping down a mug. 

“And it was memorable,” Anathema replied. She got up, smoothing out her long skirt. “We’re always here for you if you need anything, you know that, right?” 

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale said with a small smile. He sighed to himself and turned to stare out of the window at the grey, drizzling cold weather. 

He couldn’t fault Anathema. She had a very valid point. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to speak to someone in a more professional capacity. He wasn’t young anymore, and he was starting over yet again. Somehow he’d assumed by this point in his life he’d have had more confidence yet he was being plagued by the same problems he had when he was younger. 

Then there was the question that she raised, the question that he didn’t even have an answer to himself. What did Aziraphale want? 

He wanted a _home_. 

He wanted a place where he could make tea in peace. Where he could read without interruption, perhaps. Somewhere quiet that he could indulge in something delicious without fear of having Gabriel walk in on him. Perhaps he’d learn to bake. Or knit! That always looked so very fun. 

If Anathema had wanted him to take up space, she got her wish granted in the form of Azirpahle being so lost in his thoughts that he wasn’t aware of time passing. His drink cooled in front of him, having never once been touched. The drizzling morning turned into a chilly late afternoon, without him ever recognizing the change in the light outside. And she was probably right, especially once his thoughts turned from his living situation to his past coping methods. Aziraphale knew himself well enough to know he had a tendency to, well, run away. Not always, perhaps. It would be unfair to not recognize the times he’d dug his heels in and fought some fairly impressive battles. He could be a right stubborn _bastard_ when he put his mind up to it. But when it came to relationships and other people…

A small voice whispered in his mind, _But your family loves you…_

He blinked that thought away.

“Angel?” 

At the sound of Crowley’s voice, Aziraphale started as though his spirit were being returned to his body. He looked up and he could feel his face relax, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. That beautiful idiot, who usually looked so confident and cool, was standing in front of him looking… afraid. Or, at the very least, a bit nervous. He was confident that the average passer-by wouldn’t notice, but Aziraphale had known Crowley a long time. Oh, oh, dear, but he _had_. The thought hit Aziraphale like a train. The time that passed didn’t matter, this was Crowley and he knew, without asking, that Crowley was nervous because he _knew_ his friend that well. He could see the drawn skin near his eyes, under his dark glasses, and how his tousled hair was more ‘frantic’ than ‘artful’. His all-black ensemble was softer today, less sharp than the last few times they’d seen each other, although the black jeans still hugged him quite close and his black jumper outlined his body just as nicely as his usual jacket. In his hands he was juggling two mugs and a pastry on a plate.

“Angel, you okay?” 

As Aziraphale blinked up at him, it occurred to him how much time had passed. His lips formed a gentle ‘o’ and he glanced over at Anathema, who was in a quiet discussion with Newt over something with the pastry case. She didn’t appear annoyed. Aziraphale looked back at Crowley, blinking again.

“Just doing some thinking, dear boy. Nothing to worry about,” Aziraphale told him. Crowley’s brows knit together. 

“Riiiiiight. I, erm. I bought this for you. Anathema said you didn’t touch yours,” Crowley said, placing one of the cups down in front of him. The scent of fresh chocolate wafted up, tempting Aziraphale’s empty stomach. The fresh whipped cream on top, with a drizzle of chocolate, looked much better than the cocoa he’d already wasted by letting it sit on the table. “Hope cocoa is okay.” 

“Yes, that’s very thoughtful, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He watched as Crowley, very suavely, flopped down into the chair opposite of Aziraphale. His long, thin fingers slid the plate with the croissant over to him. 

“She also said you haven’t eaten and that it’s been a few hours, so I thought you might like this, too,” Crowley said. 

“My dear, that is really too kind of you.” Aziraphale was touched. He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Anathema had brought him food. Even his past lovers had been more casual and there hadn’t been as many ‘coffee shop dates’ as he wished there had been. He gave Crowley a smile that sent him blushing and ducking his head, refusing to make eye contact. Aziraphale’s lips parted at the sight. 

“S’nothing, angel.” 

Aziraphale bookmarked that reaction for later exploration. “It’s not ‘nothing’, Crowley. You thought of me. That’s very sweet.” 

“Mmmnnnggg. M’not sweet,” Crowley groused. Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled as he watched Crowley squirm. 

“Suit yourself, dear.” He picked the pastry up, admiring the color before allowing his pearly white teeth to sink into the flaky crust. His stomach chose that moment to remind him that he was hungry and he might have moaned, just a little bit. Aziraphale’s cheeks dusted pink. “Oh, that’s lovely. Thank you, Crowley. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.” 

Crowley waved with one hand dismissively, and it was stiff. Aziraphale took a closer look at his old friend, noting the rigid lines of his body, despite the casual sprawl. He didn’t seem to have his usual smooth air about him. Aziraphale frowned. “Are you alright, my dear? You seem very… subdued.” 

Crowley’s cheek twitched and he looked away, like he was being caught at something. He gave a shrug. “I dunno. Stuff on my mind. Nothing for you to worry about, angel.” 

“Alright,” Aziraphale agreed softly. He picked up his croissant, about to take another bite, when he looked over at Anathema once more. She was handing over a cup of coffee to a boy with a smile and behind her was Newt, looking at her with the fondest expression in his eyes. It reminded him of their earlier conversation. He put the croissant back on the plate and straightened up a little bit. “But what if I wanted to?” 

“Err, what?” 

“Worry, that is. What if I wanted to worry about you? We’re- well, we’re rebuilding our relationship. Friendship! Please, share some of that burden with me. Perhaps I can help,” Aziraphale said. Crowley shifted uncomfortably. The tension didn’t leave as he leaned forward, putting both arms on the table in front of him. 

“S’not really something we do, is it? Feelings.” 

Aziraphale’s lips pursed and his nose wrinkled in disappointment. “Well, then, perhaps that’s been a part of our problem and we should start. If I’d been more honest with you, maybe it wouldn’t have taken us twenty years to have our first conversation.” 

All Aziraphale knew was that back in their school days, he would have given anything- anything at all- to help Crowley. And now here he sat, across from him, looking terribly sad and Aziraphale would be damned if he was going to miss another opportunity. What good was the nickname ‘angel’ if he couldn’t guard something or help his friends? His impassioned little rant amused Crowley, whose lips were already curling upwards.

“Turning over a new leaf, eh?” 

“Something like that,” Aziraphale said kindly. 

Crowley’s smile had always been kind of odd when he was genuinely amused, much like he was then. It was an open-mouthed sort of expression, with his jaw dropped in a surprised way, but without the full showing of teeth that most people had. It was one of Aziraphale’s favorite things about him. “Alright, then. Since you asked. I’ve been thinking of sticking around more. Maybe moving here.” 

“Oh- Oh! You mean permanently?” Aziraphale’s heart fluttered at that, and whatever his own face was doing seemed to be delighting Crowley. “I thought you didn’t like it here.” 

“Well, I, eh. You get older, don’t you? S’nothing to do with you, but maybe it doesn’t hurt to have someone I know close by. I liked the city and the rush when I was younger but,” Crowley shrugged. “Seems less important now. Stuff gets put into perspective for you, ya know?” 

“Ah. Yes, I’m sure it does. If I might ask, why here? There’s a whole lot of other places you could pick.” Aziraphale was not blushing, he was _not_ , and he was certainly not getting his hopes up. 

“Yeah, sure, but here’s as good as any place. All the greenery looks the same, really, when you get down to it.” Crowley was quiet for a minute, his lips turned down in a frown as he apparently considered something. “I don’t… blame the town for what happened to me, Aziraphale. It could happen to anyone, anywhere. His choices, they shouldn’t have anything to do with me, don’t you think?” 

“Yes. Of course, you’re absolutely correct. And if that’s how you truly feel, then I agree entirely. I would certainly not complain if you were to be here more often. I’d enjoy it, actually.” Aziraphale twisted his fingers nervously. The entire reason he’d been so depressed earlier had popped back in his mind like a phone notification from someone annoying- well, like a phone notification from Gariel, really. “Although, as it turns out…” 

Crowley ducked his head, peering over his glasses at Aziraphale with his eyebrows lifted expectantly. “What’s up, angel?” 

“Well, I might not be in the area, as it turns out.” Aziraphale offered him a sheepish smile. He finally picked up one of the mugs of cocoa, just for something else to do with his hands. He frowned as he took a sip and placed it back on the table. He reached for the one Crowley bought that hadn’t been sitting out for hours and took a sip of that one instead. “Gabriel is selling the house. I have to move and I don’t know where I’m going to live.” 

Crowley’s jaw dropped. “Shhhhit. Can he just do that? Is that a thing he can do?” 

“Mother gave him permission and it’s her home. It seems he’s done quite badly here with the business and he’s moving back to America, and she has no desire to return. It’s, ehm, what do they call it- small sizing, I suppose?” Aziraphale said, fussing with the placement of the mug on the table. 

“Downsizing,” Crowley said. He shook his head, reaching out to pull Aziraphale’s hand away from where it was twisting the mug back and forth. Aziraphale looked up at him, his blue eyes blown wide at the contact. “We’re going to need something stronger than cocoa for you, then.” 

“Oh? And what do you suggest, my dear?” 

“Extraordinary amounts of alcohol,” Crowley said. The way his smile twisted, it wasn’t really joyful, per se, but it was very tempting. “Come back to mine. We’ll get some takeaway, do a little day drinking, and think about your situation.” 

Aziraphale let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and he gave Crowley a relieved smile. “Thank you, Crowley. That sounds marvelous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr. 
> 
> SO much stuff happened, I'm so sorry it took forever to update. I'm hoping to be regularly updating again soon. In the mean time, I've posted a coffee shop playlist on my Tumblr and other more personal things because I talk too much on the internet.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were so many typos in the last chapter I feel physically embarrassed. I think I've caught most of them, but seriously, my brain has been on fire so even if I've read it a million times I still miss stuff. 
> 
> Warnings: Crowley has food sensitivities. Not anything too disordered, but just some slight sensitivities. They only mention it in passing and they do not go into it, but just in case you're upset about that kind of thing you might just want to skim the eggs-cooking portion of the chapter. Crowley has been hiding a secret and Aziraphale will find out what it is at the end.

_The Very Recent Past_

The fact that Crowley had been able to enter the coffee shop without Aziraphale somehow detecting his presence was more than a little concerning. Alright, alright, that was probably a bit conceited but Crowley knew that Aziraphale had some weird, sixth sense when it came to Crowley’s whereabouts. He was impossible to sneak up on, for the most part, so for his eyes to never stop staring out of the window, to never glance up and greet Crowley when he came in, well. It was a fucking concern.

“How long’s he been like that?” Crowley asked in a whisper as he leaned on the counter. Coffee Girl was leaning back so they could speak without being overheard, but he barely noticed her. His focus was on Aziraphale. He didn’t like the pale tinge on those usually-rosy cheeks or the way a full mug of something sat cold in front of him, seemingly untouched. 

“Longer than usual. A few hours, at least,” she whispered back. She stared with him for a moment, twisting her lips from side to side, before she motioned with her head towards the back room. “C’mere a sec. He’ll never notice.” 

Crowley was loath to give up the opportunity to spy, unnoticed, on Aziraphale, but he did as she asked. Behind the wooden counter, there was a curtain with the shop’s logo on it and she was holding it aside for him to enter the small storage room… with more exposed brick?

“Look, um-” 

“Anathema. I own this shop, just in case you were curious,” she said. Crowley raised an eyebrow at her. She was very young for someone who owned a shop, and she was dressed like an extra from Little House on the Prairie. Her puritanical blouse was downright prim and who the hell wore pinafores anymore? Oh, right, she was talking. “Focus, listen, I’m trying to make this quick so he doesn’t see you back here. His brother is selling their house.” 

Thank _someone_ for his ever present sunglasses, because his eyes widened in a way he was sure was not cool. Some might even say they ‘bugged’ out. “What?” 

“Yeah, that shit head, ass hat, twat-waffle brother of his is selling the house, and he’s a piece of work, let me tell you. He just told him this morning he’s put the whole family property on the market and he’s moving back to America,” Anathema said. Her tone was dark, but matter-of-fact, which was comforting because it vaguely reminded him of the way Beez sometimes spoke. Crowley could feel his mouth working but he had no words. He was only able to stand there and gape at her. 

“So, um.” His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled. “He’s, uhh-”

“Going to have no place to live? Yeah. He’s a little upset,” Anathema snapped. “He’s been out of it all morning.” 

“Okay, so, why are you telling me this? I don’t know you,” Crowley said. He tried to regain his sense of suavity by shoving his hands in his pocket, looking down his nose at her. 

“Because he likes you and I’m worried about him.” 

Alright. Okay, alright, she couldn’t possibly mean- this wasn’t _school_ , alright. Like probably just meant as friends, no need to get excited. 

Except Crowley was getting very excited. He scowled to cover up his smile. “Likes me?”

“Yeah, and if you do that typical ‘cool guy’ thing and break his heart, yours will end up in a pastry case right next to your eyeballs and probably your testicles,” Anathema promised. She took a step back from him and her eyes did a very weird unfocused thing. Then, she reached out and put her hand on one of his arms. He had the distinct impression she was seeing something that he wasn’t. “I don’t think you will. Not on purpose. Still, keep it in mind.” 

“Keep what in mind? You threatening me?” Crowley pretended to be affronted but he sort of liked her. He was glad that Aziraphale had someone nice in his corner after all the shit Gabriel had pulled over the years. 

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise,” Anathema replied simply, letting her hand drop. Crowley hissed.

There were more important things to be done, however. On the other side of a very thin curtain was a depressed angel in need of supreme cheering up. Crowley knew that, at least in the past, he was very good at getting Aziraphale to smile. 

“Alright, well, give me something from your pastry case that’s not human remains and is hopefully somewhat French. He likes croissants, if you’ve got ‘em,” Crowley instructed, pulling his wallet out of his tight jeans. “And I need a fresh one of whatever he’s drinking. You know what, give me a black coffee, too. That’s what I came for, anyway.” 

Anathema tilted her head to the side. “That’s not all you came for.” 

Crowley decided to ignore her.

_Present_

How Crowley ended up in the kitchen of his tiny cottage was anyone’s guess.

Wait. He knew this one. Why was he in the kitchen?

Right! Right, food! Aziraphale probably should eat. Hell, Crowley should eat but that seemed kind of like a chore. Cooking for Aziraphale, however, was pure _pleasure_.

He remembered the order of events that led him to the kitchen in a really pleasantly vague kind of way. He’d brought the angel back to his cute little rental, good plan that, and he’d opened some of his best wine. Also a good plan. So far, Crowley was winning at plans. They’d drunk most of the afternoon away, and a fair bit of the evening, as well. He’d learned so much about the angel. 

After the professor had run off with the next bloke, Aziraphale had ended up with some utter wanker named Peter who was basically just a watered down version of Gabriel. Crowley immediately wanted to set him on fire. Or, at the very least, put shrimp shells in his curtain rods. Yes, definitely shrimp shells in his curtain rods. Peter wasn’t as outrightly dickish as Gabriel, but after a few stories, Crowley was convinced they were certainly cut from the same cloth. And to top it all off, Peter was also a cheater (did Aziraphale have a type? Was that a type he had?) and when the poor angel caught him, he was so distraught he moved back in with Head Wanker and Fam. 

They still hadn’t talked about the future or what Aziraphale was going to do, but it was only midnight or so, they’d figure it out eventually. 

Why was Crowley in the kitchen? More wine? Oh! Aziraphale had complained about being peckish. Right! Yes, plan ‘Get The Angel Some Dinner’ had been made and Crowley offered to cook as there was no place in this forsaken town that was still open at this particular hour. Cool. He could do that. 

Crowley was _great_ at naming plans. 

He was also quite confident in his ability to cook while tipsy, even if it was just eggs. 

“Are you sure you’re quite up for it, m’dear?” Aziraphale said, sipping at a glass of water that he’d requested after sitting himself down at the little stools on the sitting room side of that island thing. Crowley still didn’t know if it had a proper name. 

“‘Course, angel. Done this a time or two,” Crowley replied confidently. Perhaps water wasn’t a horrible idea. 

“Water is an excellent idea,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley wondered if he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. A question which was answered by the angel. “Yes, you had. Are you certain you want to cook?” 

“Sure! It’s fine,” Crowley assured him. He poured himself a glass of water and took a huge gulp. “See? Drinkin’ water and everything.” In his defense, he was actually a decent enough cook to know what he was doing. “Besides, s’just a scramble. I c’n handle a scramble.” 

He placed the frying pan on the cooker and began browning just a bit of butter to color the outside of the eggs. Some people didn’t like it, but he did and he hoped Aziraphale would as well. (Although, he had to admit, his friend liked most foods that he could recall.) He cracked a few eggs into a mug and started beating them together with a bit of cream, adding a tiny bit of salt and pepper. Nothing fancy, except maybe the fillings. 

“D’you want toast?” he asked, and Aziraphale shook his head. 

“No, wouldn’t want to be troublesome,” he replied. Crowley rolled his eyes and poured the egg mixture into the pan. 

“That’s your problem. You never want to cause trouble, angel. You could stand to make a bit more noise,” Crowley snickered, although for the life of him he didn’t know why he found that funny. Maybe because it sounded dirty. He was starting to think he _could_ fuck up eggs while this hammered. 

“You always seemed to cause enough trouble for both of us,” Aziraphale said. Crowley rolled his eyes. 

“S’not gonna be much, angel, just so you know,” Crowley told him as he concentrated very, very hard on making sure the eggs were making a perfect circle and not sticking. He was sure he looked cool while doing so. You could look cool while cooking eggs, right? Must be able to, yeah?

“Very cool,” Aziraphale assured him.

Well that was alright then. Crowley risked a glance at Aziraphale, who was watching him with the weirdest look on his face. His eyes were so big and wide, and his cheeks were positively red from the alcohol. 

“I’m sure whatever you make will be perfect, my dear,” Aziraphale promised breathily. 

“You know me,” Crowley said, feeling a ramble coming on. He turned back to the eggs and began to add crumbled up goat cheese that he’d purchased from the farmer’s market. “Don’t much like eating, so I don’t keep a lot on hand. All that food anxiety never really went away. Got this cheese from that place, though-” 

“Not the port wine!” Aziraphale said, giggling to himself. Crowley snickered. 

“Nah, not the port wine,” he agreed. “Nnn, no, had this goat cheese that was semi-decent. Y’know, thought it might make a good omelette.”

Aziraphale breathed in a loud, audible inhale before sighing out, “It smells _divine_.” 

Crowley felt a flush take over his own cheeks and he made a weird choking sound in his throat.

“Nngg, right. Yes, okay, yes, cooking, that’s what I was doing,” Crowley mumbled to himself, looking back at the pan and very nearly forgetting again what he was supposed to be doing. He started to place spinach leaves along the top of the melting cheese and then, somehow because it should have been impossible, he folded the omelette over on itself to finish up. “Look, angel, about your house-” 

“Oh, _must_ we? We were having such a marvelous time,” Aziraphale complained, slumping forward on the stool to cross his arms on the table. In a fairly un-Aziraphale-like move, he slid forward to rest his chin against his arms. Liquid angel. 

“Hey, you were the one going on and on about turnin’ over a new grass or something like it. Leafs. You were turning over new leafs,” Crowley said. He picked up the pan very carefully and slid the pretty omelette over onto a clean plate. He flicked the heat off and passed the food over to Aziraphale, who straightened and gave a delighted wiggle at the prospect of eating. 

“Leaves, dear,” Aziraphale corrected him. He murmured his thanks as Crowley handed him a fork. 

“Right! Leavessss,” Crowley hissed. He leaned on his side of the island, looking down as Aziraphale examined the dish in front of him. “If we’re doing that, then you need to talk to me about serious stuff. No more running off in your own head, right? Together stuff. Together we do stuff.” 

Oh that weird expression was back on Aziraphale’s face. It was really cute, the way he was looking up at Crowley with his eyebrows both raised, lips parted in surprise. His eyes were big and shiny. “Do we?” 

Crowley blushed. He decided he definitely also needed an omelette or his blood sugars were going to be a disaster, so he started to prep another batch of eggs. Hopefully he didn’t fuck it up because these were his last ones. “Yeah. ‘Course we do. You jus’ said earlier, right?” 

He didn’t get an answer, and he turned to look at Aziraphale, who had been chewing with his eyes closed. When his eyes reopened, he was jubilant. “Oh, my dear. This is positively _scrumptious_.”

“Good. ‘M glad,” Crowley said, and his ears were definitely not red, nope, not him, not at all. He was so focused on watching Aziraphale eat and watching the flickers of joy on his face as he moaned his way through his food that he forgot about his own omelette, which was turning into a scramble. Crowley heard a hiss out of the frying pan and cursed, returning his eyes to his own food. 

“You’re right, you know. You did offer to listen and I’ve been avoiding the subject all night long,” Aziraphale told him, seemingly out of nowhere. Had he offered to listen? 

How could he concentrate on anything other than the _sounds_ Aziraphale was making?

“So tell me now,” Crowley managed as he scooped the mess he’d made onto a plate. In the brown-yellow lump of eggs, there were some green spinach leaves and melted bits of cheese, so he knew it would taste alright even if it looked like a disaster. He brought his plate around to the side of the island Aziraphale was on and perched his bony arse on the stool next to him. “What are you thinking?” 

“I’m thinking,” Aziraphale began slowly, taking a sip of water to break up his words, “that it might be a relief to not be around Gabriel, you know. He’s just so insufferable. I don’t know how I used to stand it.” 

“You didn’t,” Crowley pointed out. “You ran off.” 

Aziraphale ignored him in favor of making a swirling gesture with his fork. “Take these eggs, for example. They’re delightful. You’ve added fresh spinach and local goat cheese and, forgive me if I’m wrong, but did you put a pinch of garlic in?” 

“Mmhmm. Didn’t know if you’d notice,” Crowley lied and he shrugged his shoulders. He did know, of course. Aziraphale had always been very sensitive about tastes. 

“Wonderful!” 

Okay, Aziraphale had to be as drunk as he was. There was no way _anyone_ would rh-rapsz-Rhap- go on and on about eggs like a bloody poet unless they were completely pissed. 

“But if Gabriel saw me eating this, he would make snide little remarks about calories or cholesterol or proteins- I don’t even know if there are any safe food groups anymore. Sometimes I just want to eat some damned eggs!” 

“Damned tasty eggs,” Crowley pointed out, beaming, even though he had a bit of a mouthful.

“Quite so,” Aziraphale agreed, spearing a little bit more of his omelette. 

“Well, what about your job? What do you do? Did we even get that far?” Crowley asked, wondering where they’d put their glasses. Oh! Behind him. He stood, definitely not wobbling, and slithered over to the coffee table to pick them up from where they’d been forgotten. He brought the barely-anything-left-in-it bottle with him. 

“I restore books. It’s a slow business, but I’ve got a few regular clients and I’ve saved a bit over the years. I’d meant for it to be a sort of retirement fund, not for starting over. Yet again,” Aziraphale said. His shoulders drooped downwards and he stabbed his last bite of eggs with a little more force than he’d probably intended. 

“C’mon, angel. You can’t mean to tell me you were going to live with Gabriel until you retired? Until you died or something? You had to have some kind of back-up plan,” Crowley said, pushing his own half-eaten eggs towards Aziraphale, who took them with a small, grateful smile. 

“If you’re sure you don’t want-? Alright, well, if you insist.” Aziraphale resumed eating and gave a happy wiggle in his seat. “I suppose Anathema was right.” 

This oughta be good, Crowley thought to himself. Coffee Girl seemed to have a lot of opinions in his very limited experience with her. He topped off his glass and swirled the contents around. “About what?” 

“She suggested that I need therapy,” Aziraphale said glumly. Crowley tried, and failed, to hold back a snicker which caused the most adorable expression of indignation to form on Aziraphale’s face. “She meant it kindly!” 

“Angel, no woman has ever meant ‘you need therapy’ kindly,” Crowley laughed, taking a swig of wine that he was sure he’d regret later. 

“Well, we were- we were discussing you and I- but then we also were talking- I just thought I was over it but I’m starting to wonder- Oh! It’s so silly, I’m being so st-” 

“Oi! Shut up. You stop that right now,” Crowley instructed. He leaned forward, making sure Aziraphale was meeting his gaze as he took his friend’s soft hand in his own. Oh, his sweet little hands that he probably still had manicured, just like he had back when they were basically kids. “What’s on your mind?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes, beautiful and so blessedly normal compared to his own, roamed his face. Crowley didn’t know what he was looking for, but whatever it was he must have found it because he nodded to himself. “I was very distraught when I first moved back here. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I had been with Peter for over a decade, you know, and I thought I was finally free but I suppose I haven’t been free at all. I’ve been so focused on just getting through each day that I haven’t really considered how I’m not really healing anything. I’m going to need a job, probably, and a place to live.” 

He paused, giving Crowley a long, heavy stare. “And I do so hope it’s here.” 

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand before letting it go. “That’s up to you, angel. Where you go, what you do.” He picked up someone’s glass, whichever one still had alcohol in it, and drained it’s remains. “You can do anything you want. You just have to know what that is. Think I read that on a card somewhere.” 

Aziraphale was watching him with his brows lifted hopefully and his eyes were wide, with his lips slightly parted, almost as if in wonder. Crowley frowned. “What?” 

“You really believe that?” 

“‘Course I do! If anyone could do it, it’d be you,” Crowley said amiably, putting the glass back down. “You’re smart and brilliant-” 

“Old and frumpy-” 

“My age, thank you very much, and I refuse to be old yet,” Crowley teased. He grinned at Aziraphale. “You’re pretty perfect, angel.” He stood up, still on unsteady legs, and stacked the two empty plates. “You finished with these?” 

“Yes. Yes, of course, dear. Oh, Crowley?” 

“Hmm?” Crowley turned around and suddenly found himself with an armful of Aziraphale. There were soft curves pressed against his own lean form, and he barely, _barely_ had the thought of putting the plates down on the island as he was being crowded against it. The dishes landed with a loud clatter. His hands came up to rest on Aziraphale’s ample hips while his mouth was occupied with an assault. The kiss, well, it wasn’t his best work but they were both fucking wasted.

Oh. Shit. They were both fucking wasted.

Aziraphale whined when Crowley pulled back, and it took all the control he had not to kiss the pouty expression off of that sweet face. Alright, he pecked him once more, but that was it.

“You’re drunk. I’m drunk. We’re, y’know. Hmm, nngk. Okay, I want to do this but not- not like this, okay?” Crowley hoped that was a coherent sentence. Aziraphale’s eyes focused a little bit below Crowley’s mouth, somewhere along the lines of his throat, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“You’re right. Quite sorry,” Aziraphale mumbled, blushing. 

“Hey, hey! Angel. Look at me,” Crowley said. He tilted Aziraphale’s chin up so that he was forced to look at him. “When we’re not drunk. Let’s, errr, revisit this, okay?” Aziraphale was nodding along but he still seemed very sad. “Can I tempt you to stay the night? I’ve got a nice bed. ‘S’bit large.” 

Aziraphale snorted indelicately. “You don’t want to kiss me but you want to sleep together?” 

“I don’t have to be in the bed, ‘Ziraphale. I have a couch,” Crowley mocked, waggling his head. He took Aziraphale’s hand in his and tugged him towards the stairs. “It’s cute. All quaint and stuff. You’ll love it.” 

Drunk Crowley did not often make decisions for which Sober Crowley was glad, but this was probably one of the rare occasions where he got something right. It wasn’t even that he had strong morals. He was a corporate executive, in his former life, and he was well-versed in illicit, immoral activities of all sorts (especially when it came to getting a deal completed). But… Aziraphale was too important to waste with that kind of temptation.

The bedroom was just as white and generically adorable as the rest of the cottage, with a too-soft bed in the center and those fuzzy-willow branches in random jars on the night stands, but Aziraphale cooed over it as if it were just the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. Crowley pulled a few spare blankets from the cupboard for himself and allowed himself another soft peck to Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“Get some rest, my dear,” Aziraphale managed. 

“Sweet dreams, angel,” Crowley replied. With the angel tucked up sweetly in Crowley’s own bed, he headed back downstairs to wash the blasted dishes.

***

Aziraphale woke up surrounded by softness and breathing in a familiar scent that he couldn’t quite place. He stretched, and he could feel the warm, cloud-like down of the duvet over his sore body. He attempted to push his aching bones into a seated position, noticing the stiffness and the ache that seemed to radiate from his skull. Through squinted eyes, he looked at his unfamiliar surroundings. Where was he?

There was a large bed and matching exposed night tables with milk-glass pussywillow branches displayed on them. There was light streaming in from the windows, which only made his head hurt worse, and the curtains were some kind of strange gauze fabric. It looked like some sort of hotel-

Oh, Lord. Crowley’s rental cottage. 

Azirapale groaned, and his fingers, which felt swollen from dehydration, reached up to massage his head. He didn’t usually get hangovers, but they’d done an awful lot of drinking. His cheeks burned as he remembered the night before. 

He’d _kissed_ Crowley! He’d thrown himself at him like a common tart! What had he been _thinking_?

He rose, and noticed that he was only wearing an undershirt and his boxers. His cheeks flamed as he realized he couldn’t recall if he’d stripped while Crowley had been in the room or if he’d waited until he’d left. To quote Elizabeth Bennet, ‘What must he _think_ of me?’ It’s all Aziraphale could think about as he slid on his crumpled trousers, tucked his wrinkled shirt in at the waist and topped it all off with his worn-out old waistcoat. He slipped on his shoes, socks and suit jacket and went looking for his host. 

Crowley quite took his breath away. He was leaning against the worktop in the kitchen, already clothed in solid black, and with his sunglasses firmly in place. It was unfortunate, because with his eyes covered Aziraphale couldn’t really read his expression well. The fingers of his right hand were pressing along the jaw on the right side of his face, tracing back and forth firmly before reaching up to rub under his glasses, along the cheekbone. There was a cup of coffee sitting on the surface beside him, steaming away in the morning light. 

“Good morning, my dear,” Aziraphale said. He was trying for cheerful, but there was a strange tenseness in the kitchen and it made him uneasy. Crowley’s lense-covered gaze was on him and his mouth was set in a straight line. 

“You’re awake,” Crowley said softly, barely moving his lips. Aziraphale brought his hands up to rest together, in front of him, as he began to feel very decidedly uncomfortable. Crowley must have hated the kiss, or maybe Aziraphale caused him to feel awkward by sharing all of that personal information?

Either way, Aziraphale didn’t enjoy feeling so very scrutinized first thing in the morning and with a hangover to boot.

“Ah. Yes, I am. Well, ehm. I just wanted to thank you for last night. It was very kind of you to indulge me.” Aziraphale’s fingers twisted together. “Felt a bit like old times.” 

Crowley nodded, and he took a long time to respond. “Don’t have t’ thank me. S’what friends do.” 

“Yes, well. I appreciate it.” Aziraphale stood for another agonizing moment of silence while he waited for Corwley to say… well he didn’t know exactly what but something. In the end, it appeared neither of them were going to have the courage to say something about the kiss. “Er, I’d best get a wiggle on, then. I should probably go and deal with the mess I’ve left at home.” 

“‘Kay. See ya,” Crowley said, looking back out the window. Aziraphale nodded, more to himself, and turned towards the entrance. It seemed Crowley couldn’t even be bothered to see him to the door. He was just tugging on his coat when he heard Crowley’s voice again.

“Angel, wait.” 

Aziraphale turned, shrugging his coat the rest of the way on as he did so. Crowley was coming over, the keys to his car clasped in his hand, but he was frowning and his lips were pressed together. 

“Lift home?” Crowley asked. “Ss’cold out.” 

“Ah. If you don’t mind, my dear, I would be very grateful,” Aziraphale said. “If you’re sure?”

Crowley nodded. The trouble was, he wasn’t saying anything, and it made Aziraphale fret horribly. What if he’d ruined everything they’d started to rebuild by drunkenly indulging a schoolboy crush-

He was so lost in his thoughts that he forgot to worry about other things. Namely, that he usually didn’t allow Crowley anywhere near his family home for fear of what Gabriel would say. Now, as they pulled up to the old stone home, where a strange car was parked in the drive, Aziraphale remembered his usual hesitation. Only, now, it was less of what his family would think of Crowley and more that he didn’t want Crowley to do anything violent to his brother, however he might have deserved it. Circles. Aziraphale recognized he was talking himself in circles. Of course Crowley wouldn’t do anything to Gabriel if he couldn’t even be bothered to say two sentences to Aziraphale-

“Oh, dear, it looks as though Gabriel has company,” Aziraphale murmured to himself, looking at the strange car. It was a very expensive vehicle, although Aziraphale didn’t know what kind it was. It was very shiny looking, if that said anything.

“Oh, fffffuck me,” Crowley groaned. He threw the Bentley into park. “Angel-” 

“Speaking to me now, are we?” Aziraphale said in his very best prissy voice. 

“Nngg, you don’t-” 

“What? I don’t what?” Aziraphale asked, but he never did get an answer. The front door of the house was opening and Gabriel was stepping out with that blond man Crowley had been wrapped around at the farmer’s market. Aziraphale’s lips parted.

“That’s’wot,” Crowley mumbled. He slid from the car and started to come around. It looked like he’d intended to open Aziraphale’s door for him, only Aziraphale was faster for once in his life. 

“Anthony, darling,” the blond man purred. Crowley winced. The piercing eyes of the stranger were pinning Crowley in place and Aziraphale didn’t like it. He reached out and almost, almost grabbed Crowley’s sleeve, but in the end he just twisted his hands together like always. Gabriel was giving them a very long stare.

“Aziraphale. Introduce me to your friend,” Gabriel demanded in what should have been a pleasant voice.

“Oh, er, this is Cra- Crowley,” Aziraphale stammered. “We were in school together. Quite a long time ago.” 

“I see,” Gabriel said. 

“Anthony is one of my best, hmm, colleagues,” the blond said, clapping his hands together in delight. “Anthony, this is Gabriel Fell. I don’t believe you’ve met but you did help me with one of his accounts last year.” Crowley appeared to grimace, and Aziraphale noticed his lips were twisting in an unusual way. He barely realized that the blond was reaching out a hand to him. “You must be Gabriel’s younger brother, how charming. Lucien Morningstar. Luc, to my friends. I’m a business acquaintance of your brother’s and Crowley’s partner.” 

“You are nnnggg-” Crowley started to growl but he cut himself off, quietly seething. “Broke up. And quit.” 

“Oh, _darling_ , don’t be silly. I was just talking to Gabriel about purchasing this sweet old house for us. Well, for you, since you seem so hell bent on settling in this remote old-” 

Crowley’s face snapped forward. “What?” 

“Well, you were so insistent on moving here, and you’ll obviously need somewhere to live, so I thought I’d get it for you. As a little present.” Luc squinted a smile at Crowley. The expression held a razor sharp edge. It dared Crowley to object, which he clearly did. 

“No!” Crowley snapped. His hand reached up to press at his jaw again. “I quit. We’re done. M’not moving in with you.” 

“Darling, look at yourself. I can tell you haven’t been taking care of yourself,” Luc tutted. He looked back at Gabriel, who seemed entirely uncomfortable with the whole display but unwilling to break a possibly lucrative deal. “Poor thing can’t hold a conversation when he’s like this. He used to be such an impressive negotiator, but then he developed this unfortunate health problem and now his whole face just freezes up-” 

“Shut. Up!” Crowley snarled, but when Luc’s cold eyes returned to him, he flinched backwards. 

“Now, now. That’s no way to act,” Luc said with a quiet threat in his voice.

Aziraphale’s heart pounded in his chest. So many things were occurring to him, all at once, and with no way of deciding which was more important. After that entire conversation about trust, Crowley had asked him his plans but was unwilling to reveal some unknown health weakness. At the same time, wasn’t that exactly what Aziraphale deserved? Then, relief that he’d thought he’d been rejected but Crowley had been quiet because of this- this facial problem? Aziraphale’s lips parted, and even though Crowley’s eyes were covered, he knew that his friend was watching him. 

And he looked _embarrassed_. Right, well. First thing was first, then. 

“Breakfast?” Aziraphale asked gently. Now that he was aware of it, he could see the slight slump of the right side of Crowley’s mouth, how it wasn’t quite moving in time with the rest of his face. 

“Could do with coffee,” Crowley said softly. 

“Now, wait a moment-” 

“I don’t believe you were invited,” Aziraphale said, managing to infuse his voice with disdain for Luc. He would have to get the whole story out of Crowley, at some point, but for now he would content himself with getting Crowley as far away from this odious man as possible. “It’s quite rude to speak of other people’s health problems as though they were your own, especially when that person has made it quite clear that your opinions are not welcome.” 

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel exclaimed, and he was starting to look embarrassed, but the expression on Aziraphale’s face had him stopping dead in his tracks.

“Shall we, my dear?” Aziraphale said, and he opened the door to the Bentley and slid back inside. They were quiet for a good bit and Aziraphale had a feeling they were both holding their breath. It felt like they were escaping something, but he didn’t know what. “You could have told me, you know.” 

Crowley snorted. “Didn’t seem like a good time.” 

Aziraphale watched his friend’s face, and a new fear, a new anxiety was making its home in his worrier’s heart. “Is it, ehm. That is, do I need to worry about losing you? Is it that sort of health concern?”

Crowley took a few moments before answering. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if that was because he didn’t want to admit to something or if he was trying to look cool while not being able to move part of his face. “Nah. Ss’ just pissed off nerves.” 

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, not wanting to push any further. Except, he ended up huffing and asking another question, anyway. “You’d tell me if it was?” 

“‘Course, angel. You’d be the first I’d tell.” Crowley drummed his hands on the steering wheel. “Where to?” 

“Oh, I know this charming little diner, if you don’t mind,” Aziraphale said, and half of Crowley’s mouth twisted up in a grin. 

“Anything you want, angel.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: no squick but Crowley vaguely explains his face which is based off of my mom's bells palsy and my own facial nerve which acts up sometimes.

_The Present. Very Currently. Right Now._

The ride to the cafe was very quiet. On Aziraphale’s part, he knew that it was nerves. He tried to tell himself that it was alright to be nervous. There was just so bloody much to be nervous _about_. He’d allowed some sort of jealous feeling to cause him to snap at Crowley’s partner, or ex-partner. Even though Crowley had made his feelings known about this Luc person, there was clearly something there on the other man’s part that wasn’t as easy to dismiss. Then there was the matter of Crowley’s health. He was brushing off his condition as some sort of trivial thing, but Luc had said his face was _frozen_ , and at the very least that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. And here he was, driving Aziraphale all over town in search of a meal-

Oh, there was just so much to _fret_ over.

Unfortunately for Aziraphale, his little cafe was closed for a staff emergency. 

“Could go to that witchy place. The usual one,” Crowley suggested softly. Aziraphale’s face attempted to smile but it felt more like a wince, if he were being honest. 

“I shouldn’t like to trouble you, my dear,” he said softly. “It’s perfectly alright if you want to just take me back-” 

Crowley’s hand reached out and gripped Aziraphale’s. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. “S’fine, angel. M’fine.”

Crowley appeared so _earnest_ and so hesitant to be parted that Aziraphale could do nothing other than grant him what he wanted. This time, the corners of his mouth lifted into a more tender expression and he sighed. 

“Charmed Coffee it is, then, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed. 

The closed cafe was only a little distance away from Anathema’s shop, so they decided to walk. Once more, nothing was being said and it gave Aziraphale enough time to work himself up into a bit of a tizzy. There were so many things happening all at once. As someone who preferred to wear the same suit jacket he’d purchased that first year of uni and hadn’t listened to music in the last twenty odd years, the idea of so much change all at once was entirely stressful. He’d _kissed_ Crowley. He’d assaulted him! 

Or, that’s how it felt.

And then to find out his friend had been suffering with some sort of health crisis - oh! Oh! And losing the house, he hadn’t even really been concerned with _where_ he was going to _live_. 

He’d barely noticed when they crossed the threshold of the shop, but he did catch on when Crowley started to pull him towards a table without ordering anything.

“Oh! My dear, you should let me-” 

“M’not an invalid. I’m fine, but you aren’t,” Crowley murmured. He manoeuvred Aziraphale into his usual chair with gentle pushes. “Tell me what you want. I’ll get it.” 

What did Aziraphale want? Aziraphale _wanted_ his home back. He wanted to know, at forty-something-years of age what he was meant to be doing. He wanted to not be _crushing_ on his childhood best friend. Most importantly, he positively _ached_ to feel Crowley’s lips under his again. The brief brush of his fingers in that red hair proved how very soft it was, like silk, to be utterly cliche, and Aziraphale burned to feel it again. To touch and caress-

“Angel?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Surprise me,” Aziraphale instructed with another attempt at a smile. He tried to ignore the burning of his cheeks or the feverish pounding in his chest. Crowley looked concerned. 

“Alright. Be right back,” Crowley said slowly. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if the deliberate, slow pace, which was so unlike his energetic friend, was because Crowley was still desperately attempting to project some air of ‘cool’ despite what his muscles were doing. Was it just his face? Were other portions of his body affected?

He took a moment to observe Crowley as he leaned against the counter to talk to Pepper, Anathema’s other part-time employee. Was he leaning out of necessity? 

“Oh, stop worrying, you old fool,” Aziraphale muttered to himself. Pepper was a sweet young teen who filled in sometimes when Anathema needed to do paperwork. He could see that she was saying something to Crowley with a very serious expression on her face and it was making Crowley smile crookedly. After a few moments at the counter, Crowley returned with two mugs in hand and Pepper trailing behind him with a plate. On the plate was a muffin, a little fruit tart and chocolate croissant. 

“Thank you, Pepper,” Aziraphale said as she sat the plate down on the table. 

“No problem, Mr. Fell,” she said, giving him a grin. She went back to her post behind the counter, no doubt to observe them and report their every move back to her nosy boss. 

Oh, that was unkind. What was the _matter_ with him?

Crowley looked vaguely proud of himself as he threw his lanky body into a stiff yet sprawling position in his own chair. “Sssomething sweet for you, angel. S’not cocoa.” 

Aziraphale blushed, noticing the little hiss that leaked from his half-frozen lips. It was fairly adorable, which reminded Aziraphale of their kiss. The kiss Crowley hadn’t mentioned. Oh, good God, what if he didn’t even remember it? They’d both been so inebriated! Aziraphale looked down at his mug in an attempt to regulate his blood pressure and hopefully stop the vigorous blush that was spreading over his cherubic cheeks. “What did you get for me, dear?” 

“Something tasty,” Crowley promised. “And three options for breakfast.” 

“You’re too good to me,” Aziraphale murmured. The pity-party he’d embarked on murmured an unspoken, ‘especially after all I’ve done to you’. He took a deep sip of his drink, feeling the way the whipped cream left a cold residue on his upper lip, and he tasted a lovely blend of mocha, caramel and… “A single pump of vanilla?” 

“Nope. Toffee,” Crowley corrected him proudly. “Two pumps, Extra whip.” 

“It’s very decadent, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, humming as he took another sip. The drink was giving him some much needed caffeine and the warmth seemed to ground him just a touch. “Thank you, my dear.” He fixed an expectant look on his friend. “Shall we discuss our eventful morning? Your boyfriend-” 

“Nng, not my boyfriend,” Crowley interrupted with a growl. He sounded annoyed. 

“What is he, then? He is certainly more than a former employer, and he seems utterly unwilling to give you up, from what I’ve noticed.” Aziraphale allowed self-pity to get the best of him once more as he muttered, “He’s quite good-looking.” 

“Not my boyfriend.” Crowley stretched, and Aziraphale recognized the gesture from when they were younger. He was attempting to look bored and casual, but the stiffness in his arms and back weren’t going to fool anyone. He was uncomfortable and anxious. “Slept together a bit.” 

“Ah. Friends with benefits, then,” Aziraphale said, nodding sagely. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What? I do know _some_ things. I’ve had a- a- oh, what is that charming phrase? A ‘fuck buddy’, once or twice!” 

Crowley had the unfortunate luck to choke on his tongue at the phrase ‘fuck buddy’ coming out of Aziraphale’s _pristine_ mouth. “Nngk!” 

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat, happy to have gotten some sort of reaction out of Crowley. “It’s hard to believe, I know, but there was a time when some people found me mildly attractive. Such a long time ago-” 

Crowley snorted and rolled his eyes. “Riiight.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean? You don’t believe-” 

“Angel, you ran away with our professor. You had _fffuck buddies_ ,” Crowley said, stumbling over his words. “Y’know you’re cute. Don’t play dumb.” 

That heated, blushing feeling spread once more over Aziraphale’s cheeks. It was a feeling he could grow used to. Along with that blossoming warmth in his chest. He straightened primly, and decided to take the conversation back to where he’d originally intended to go. “Your ex-something is attempting to purchase my family home and I have to move out. He’s done this with the presumable intention that the two of you live together. But you’re telling me it’s not a serious relationship. Tell me, what sort of relationship involves buying each other houses?” 

The sour look he got in response, even with the sunglasses on, was fairly intense. Unwilling to be bullied into silence, Aziraphale merely raised his eyebrows and speared a piece of tart pointedly. “Well?” 

“S’nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing, Crowley. I’m worried about you,” Aziraphale insisted. 

“Look, angel, don’t worry about me. S’not worth it,” Crowley muttered. His sprawl shifted until he was leaning forward, hunched down on himself, with his arms resting on the table. A coiled snake ready for a fight. His hands wrapped around his own mug of black coffee, but he didn’t drink it. 

“Crowley, now you’re just being petulant. Of course I’m going to worry about you, you idiot!” Aziraphale said angrily. “You claim that your health issues are just past nerve damage but I know you well enough to know when there’s more to it than that. Or. Well, I did know you well enough. You don’t have to tell me, my dear, but-” Aziraphale’s breath hitched and he had to start again. “You don’t have to tell me, but I can’t help but fear that I almost lost you somehow.” 

“Didn’t seem to matter all those years ago,” Crowley said. He tapped his fingers on his mug. 

“We’ve _both_ done some fairly hideous things to each other. Perhaps it’s time to move past that,” Aziraphale scolded. He swallowed hard. “If we’re to rebuild our trust, the street must go both ways, don’t you think? I saw how he looked at you. You froze in place. My dear, if someone is hurting you-” 

“He’s not. Well, nnnggg,” Crowley said. He looked around, as if he were afraid of being caught. His tongue darted out and wet the frozen side of his lip. “Look, things weren’t good for a while.” The ‘after you left’ went unsaid but not unheard. So many things weren’t being said and it wasn’t good.

“Crowley, you can tell me. I won’t run away again,” Aziraphale promised. 

Crowley finally took a long swallow from his mug, seeming to drink from just one side of his mouth, and Aziraphale watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing gently with the motion. His jaw never relaxed.

Then he took off his glasses.

He folded them gently and slid them into his breast pocket, and he looked Aziraphale full in the face. It wasn’t his whole face, just the one side where his pupil was dilated, but it appeared as though he had a stroke. Every getsure earlier that morning, from turning away to barely saying a word, had been to keep this from Aziraphale. One corner of his mouth and one eye were drooping downwards. Even when he blinked, the eye wasn’t completely closing. It was quite unsettling. And he stared at Aziraphale, daring him to make some sort of remark. When he didn’t, Crowley sighed, and deflated, his defiance fading away. 

“S’really nothin’ much. Just a long series of bad decisions. I was at this one firm, they weren’t a good fit, y’know? Hated everyone, hated my job. Hated myself. Missed you a bit. Then I go to one of Ligur’s drag shows- d’you remember him?” Crowley waited for Aziraphale to nod. “He was still performing then. I was fuckin’ wasted at the bar, making a complete tit of m’self, when this blond bloke starts chatting me up. We ended up fucking in the loo. He slipped me his card, told me to call if I wanted a change of scenery and that was Luc.” 

Aziraphale speared another piece of tart in an attempt to distract himself. Luc struck him as a particularly manipulative person and he didn’t enjoy the idea that he’d somehow taken advantage of Crowley’s inebriated state. His nose wrinkled in disgust. “That sounds very.. Dirty.” 

“I’m sure every time you’ve shagged someone there’s been candlelight and roses, angel,” Crowley snickered meanly. 

“Cheek!” Aziraphale protested. “I’ll have you know that is not the case! I mean- I mean, of course we were talking about you, my dear. I want to hear about it. I want to know what you’ve been up to all of these years and what brought you back here. It has something to do with this Luc fellow?” 

Crowley shook his head. “Nah. Well, not the way you mean. I worked with him for a long time, angel, made him a lot of money. Then…” 

Aziraphale didn’t enjoy the way Crowley trailed off. “Is it the money? Is that why he’s pursuing you so fervently?” 

“Who knows? Me, I think he likes to have control. ‘M the first person to tell him to fuck off and he doesn’t like it,” Crowley said with a shrug. His fingers moved once more to gingerly probe along the bones of his face, massaging. Aziraphale ached to do that for him but he kept his fingers to himself. “Can’t control me anymore if I don’t work for him.” 

Aziraphale wondered to himself if Luc would escalate, do something more than attempt to buy Crowley’s affection, and it caused him considerable pain. On one hand, he recognized that Crowley was a grown man, but at the same time the fear of seeing his best friend, a scared child, beaten to a pulp in a public restroom- well, he’d rather not see it again. Of course, thinking of the past made Aziraphale wonder other things, too. “What changed? What made you, ehm. Break up with him?” 

“Can’t break up if you were never really together,” Crowley said, shrugging. “Y’live hard and fast, do things to keep up. Went out one night, woke up the next day and my face was like this. Ssscared the shit out of myself. Thought I had a stroke.” 

Aziraphale’s hands fluttered, wanting to reach over and take his but too afraid to try. In the end, he could do nothing but try to fold them together and let them rest on the table in front of him. “And was he less than supportive?” 

Crowley snorted. “Wanker didn’t even drive me to the hospital. But it had been over for a while before that, just took me a bit to realize it. I went to therapy, left him and s’about the time the old man passed away so I figured a change of scenery would be good. Slower pace, maybe.” 

“You? Move at a slow pace?” Aziraphale tried to tease. “Well, that _would_ certainly be a change.” 

Crowley winked at him with his good eye, lip curled into a bit of a smile. “Maybe not too slow, then.”

_The Past. Distant. Only Days Before the Falling Out._

Crawley hated parties.

Well, not all parties. _Certain_ parties were fun, but there was no fun in the type of parties thrown by people with money. Crawley preferred a darker sort of sport. Ligur’s drag shows? Positively hilarious, A+ good time. Mosh pits at punk gigs? Excellent, especially because he noticed that Aziraphale fussed over him if he came in with a black eye or a bruised nose. Alright, well, that was probably not nice. He probably only fussed because he was there for that cursed day just a few short years ago, but hey, it was nice to be reminded that he cared. The parties they threw over in the Hell Hole? The ones that Aziraphale patently refused to attend because of his _standards_? Those were great fun. They’d have been better with his bestie, but it was alright if they didn’t do everything together. 

This shite, though. He could do without this.

Crawley hadn’t been invited, for one thing. Neither had Thomas or Erin, but he’d been with them and decided to tag along when they talked about crashing someone’s party. Or, that’s what he told himself. 

Frankly, he knew Aziraphale _had_ been invited and he just- 

Crawley took a drag from his cigarette. 

There was a roof-top sort of garden thing on top of this building that he’d snuck up to after having caught a glimpse of his angel, and he was too anxious to go back downstairs. He held the smoke in his lungs, counting up to five before releasing all at once. The smoke curled away from his face, a puff of dragon’s smoke from a serpentine mouth. 

He heard the door creak open and then close again and he took another drag. “Erin, I’m fine, just go back inside.” 

No one answered him. 

“Look, it’s just a headache. Lemme have a smoke and I’ll be back in,” Crawley mumbled, letting the smoke drip out of his mouth, tumbling on the frigid breeze. A physical manifestation of his words. 

“Were you expecting your, ehm, girlfriend?” Aziraphale’s voice asked. Crawley’s head whipped around to stare at him, thankfully with his eyes covered by his cheap plastic sunglasses. 

“Thought you were inside,” Crawley groused. He stepped towards the ledge and twisted the remaining tobacco from the paper, watching it twist in the wind. Then he pocketed the filter and turned back. Aziraphale was watching him with an unusual, out of place expression that Crawley didn’t quite understand. It looked almost sad.

“I saw you come up here and I had to make sure you weren’t causing some sort of mischief, didn’t I?” Aziraphale shrugged. “I didn’t think you were going to be at this one.” 

“Why? Because it’s one of your friends? Because your secret boyfriend might be here and I know you don’t want us to meet?” Crawley asked, shoving his cold hands in the pockets of his tight black jeans. He glanced away again. It hurt to look at Aziraphale. He was clothed in his usual beige dress slacks and button up shirt, with a waistcoat and a bowtie as though he’d been born prematurely eighty-five years old, but he looked so good. “Didn’t think you liked these kinds of fuck fests.” 

The cold wind ruffled his long hair and sent another shiver up his spine. This felt too much like a scene from a romantic film or something. There were fairy lights hanging up and fake flowers in pots all over the rooftop. Green plastic fake grass made it appear warmer than it really was. 

“You don’t think I could indulge in a drunken make-out session? Why? Because I’m quiet and I like books?” Aziraphale probed angrily. “If you can indulge in backstage blow-jobs then I don’t see why I can’t come to a party and get, how do they say it? Completely _wasted_?” 

Crawley swallowed around a large and painful lump in his throat. “You c’n do whatever you want, angel. Don’t really matter to me.” 

“Doesn’t,” Aziraphale corrected. “Crawley, why are you here?” 

Crawley scowled and he looked back to his so-called friend. “To get completely wasted, same as you. Maybe feel up someone in a closet somewhere. Get off with someone.” 

As if to prove his point, he slid a silver-toned flask from the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He didn’t need it for sneaking booze, obviously, because he was old enough to drink, but it made him feel secretive and cool to have one, anyway. He brought the cheap booze to his lips and took a swig, feeling it burn the entire way down his throat. He held out the flask to Aziraphale and gave it a tiny shake, a sway from side to side.

“Tempt you?” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he stepped forward to take the flask. Crawley watched as Aziraphale tipped his head back, sucking down his own swig of whatever lighter fluid was passing as alcohol in Crawley’s flask. The delightful bob of an Adam’s apple in that strong column of a throat would be enough to keep Crawley on edge for decades. The low lights glinting off of that halo of white curls, the soft lines of his jaw, the soft blue of his shirt- well, Crawley was, as usual, smitten. 

“So, what shall we do now that we’re working on the ‘wasted’ portion of the evening?” Aziraphale asked as he passed the flask back. Crawley’s leather jacket creaked as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Figured you’d want to get back in to your friends. Seemed like you were having a good time.” Crawley didn’t want to think about what he’d walked into. Sure, there had been dancing and drinking and the usual, but there had also been a lot of bodies writhing in a chaotic, sordid kind of way that made him uneasy to think about. 

Yeah, yeah, pot, kettle. Look, threesomes were one thing but full blown gang bangs-

Especially when Aziraphale was there, shining and bright, in the center of all of it, watching those bodies move with the hungriest of eyes.

“Seems awfully unfair, coming from someone like you,” Aziraphale said. He slipped the flask out of Crawley’s hands and took another drink. “Just a few days ago I witnessed-” 

“I know, I know, and we, I dunno. It’s been weird. I feel weird,” Crawley admitted, and he snatched his flask back to take a drink. His free hand came up to run nervous fingers through his hair. “It’s been weird between us. What’s wrong?” 

Crawley had been watching Aziraphale too long, obsessing over every tiny detail he could see, to not see the tiny droop of his shoulders and his face. Aziraphale _was_ sad! Crawley screwed the lid back on his flask and slipped it into his pocket before taking Aziraphale’s hands in his, forcing the angel to look at him. “Hey. Are you okay?” 

“Oh, yes, my dear, of course I am. Just tired,” Aziraphale lied. He didn’t pull away, though, which was a win in Crawley’s book. 

“Look, you can tell me. Whatever it is,” Crawley promised. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hands. “I’m here for you.” 

“I know, I know. I appreciate your,” Aziraphale paused and looked up at Crawley with big, wet eyes, “friendship. I feel as though I take advantage of you sometimes, somehow, but I just don’t know what I’d ever do without you.” 

“Hey! What’s all this? You’ll never have to, angel. You’re stuck with me,” Crawley promised. He reached out to ruffle Aziraphale’s hair, if for no other reason than to keep himself from pulling his friend into a hug. “Just, if it’s weird between us, let’s try to fix it. Together, y’know?” 

“Of course. If it’s ever ‘weird’, I’ll try to talk to you,” Aziraphale said, making air quotations around the word ‘weird’. Crawley didn’t believe him, but it was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

Was it?

Shouldn’t they be more equal now? Aziraphale had his secret boyfriend and Crawley had whatever he was doing with Erin and Thomas. No more unrequited love. No more crying into his pillow at night, imagining all the kinky things Aziraphale might get up to with that old man.

Not that Crawley _cried_. He never cried. Tastefully watered his pillows. Suavely moisturized his own cheeks with liquid from his eye region. Something like that. 

But enough of that. His angel was shivering and probably desperate to return to his actual friends and the real party while Crawley slunk off into the shadows. All he wanted in life was to be far away from the posers and the posh accents that Aziraphale was seemingly drawn to. 

“C’mon, angel. Let’s get you back inside,” Crawley said, passing by Aziraphale to go towards the door. He’d let Aziraphale back in, maybe give Erin and Thomas a quick kiss goodnight and a promise to call- one that he would probably break- and then see if Beez wanted to go get some late-night pancakes or something. Something to sober him up before he considered breaking his silence about this crush on his old friend. 

“Crawley?” 

“Hmm?”

Crawley didn’t see it coming. 

Aziraphale’s strong, soft hand wrapped around Crawley’s wrist and pulled him tight against his rounded form, using all of his weight to pin Crawley against the freezing cold wall next to the door. His plush lips were plastered to Crawley’s own, moving until Crawley’s mouth opened to let him in. Aziraphale’s tongue outright plundered Crawley’s mouth, taking his breath away and overwhelming him like a wave crashing down, pulling him out to sea. Crawley’s fingers gripped at the voluptuous hips he’d spent all those years imagining the feel of, massaging the soft flesh that was under those blasted beige trousers. 

And then it was over.

Aziraphale was pulled back, leaving Crawley to stand against the frigid wall, looking flushed but otherwise unaffected. He cleared his throat and straightened his bow-tie. “Mind how you go, dear.” 

The door creaked once more as Aziraphale opened it to go inside. Crawley was alone. Crawley was always alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: I am an American, please forgive any inaccuracies regarding medical care in the UK, I’m going off my own experience with the medical industry in the States. 
> 
> … Have you ever been so anxious to meet a therapist that you walked into the wrong office three times and talked to three different doctors before finding the one you were actually scheduled with? No? Just Me? Happy Valentine’s Day, babes. (The first provider had a dog.)

Aziraphale clutched the business card in his hand, feeling the thick cardstock turn damp with sweat. He rubbed it back and forth between his thumb and index finger before turning it over to check the address for the hundredth time. The provider came highly recommended. Anathema swore by his work and said that, even though she no longer used his services, he was an expert in cases that dealt with familial trauma, queer identities and all of the complications that came with both of those things. Of course, there had been a long list of other qualifications that Anathema had gone on and on about but he couldn’t quite remember them all. 

He’d taken the bus and it was quite a long ride, even though it was all on the same line, but it was giving him enough time to work himself into a state of heightened anxiety. Normally the bus didn’t make him feel nervous but today was different. Today, with the type of doctor he was visiting, it felt like he was being a bit _sneaky_. He knew that was one of the signs that his situation was more problematic than he’d previously realized. It wasn’t normal of him to expect Gabriel or his mother to pop out of the bushes, point a finger at him and accuse him of something nefarious. Or worse, to imply that nothing was wrong in the first place and he was a fool for attempting to receive some sort of help. 

That was the real problem, wasn’t it? The idea that something might not be wrong at all, and the slightest doubt planted in his mind would have him questioning all of reality again. 

Gaslighting. That’s what Anathema had called it. It made him question what he knew to be real about his life. 

Perhaps he was somehow susceptible. Something to explore, then.

The bus smelled like a hundred different people and caused his breakfast to turn circles in his stomach. He could feel the scratchy upholstery through his clothes. Everyone was breathing too hard, or listening to their music too loud, or just sitting too close to him. He was in such a state that by the time they were approaching his stop he was practically throwing himself out the door of the vehicle. He hurried into the bland office building, only barely checking that he was in the correct place, and quickly found himself in a clinical waiting room. The front desk attendant greeted him with a bright, cheerful smile. She- her pronouns were printed on little beads on her necklace, which he found remarkably clever- handed him a clipboard with a few sheets of new patient paperwork, which he accepted with numb fingers.

“I’ll go let the doctor know that you’re here,” she said. She reached out and motioned for him to take a place in one of the empty chairs. “Please, have a seat.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and perched in one of the thinly cushioned metal chairs. He started to read the questions while waterfall noises and chiming music played, entirely at odds with the one television that was tuned into a home renovations channel. 

_Who referred you?_

That was an easy answer. Anathema. 

_Do you have an outside relationship with your provider?_

No.

_What is the main concern you are experiencing?_

Aziraphale sucked on his teeth as he considered that question. He thought about putting down ‘mid-life crisis’ but that sort of sarcastic humor was really more Crowley’s area than his. It wasn’t wrong, though. He was in the middle of his life and he was having a crisis. Still, it wouldn’t be very nice and if there was one thing Aziraphale tried to appear, at least with strangers, it was nice.

His thoughts were interrupted by the return of the young lady, letting him know to follow her and she would take him back to the doctor’s office. Aziraphale offered her a tight smile as he stood to go with her. 

“You can return the clipboard at the end of your session,” the woman said kindly. She took him down a long hall with doors, each to an individual office. “It’s a lengthy questionnaire and most people don’t get it finished right away. It’s perfectly alright.” 

One of the doors was opened and she paused in front of it, motioning to go ahead. He nodded and sent one more half-smile her way before entering the office. It was a bright space with large windows that would let the sun stream in on nice days. The walls were a calming pale green and the furniture was clinical and had a featureless modernity that implied it was all purchased at Ikea. There was a large dark brown leather sofa that seemed very inviting and next to it was a matching squishy leather chair. Random sequin throw pillows were littered over the sofa and chair, which seemed at odds with the otherwise neutral setting.

The provider, a handsome black man, was sitting in a desk chair and he rose when Aziraphale came into the room, extending his hand. 

“Mr. Fell, it’s very nice to meet you,” he said in a gravelly voice. 

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped as recognition dawned. “It’s- You’re the- You’re the Doctor? Oh, oh, I’m so sorry, I- I think I answered a question incorrectly-” 

The man’s smile fell into a more neutral, guarded expression. “I’m Dr. Hastur.” 

“Oh, oh! Yes, that’s who my appointment was with, but, you see, my friend made the appointment for me and, oh dear, one of the questions asked if I knew the provider because that is an issue and I _do_ know you,” Aziraphale said, tripping over his words. He swallowed hard and attempted to gather himself together. The anxiety of the entire day was beginning to become overwhelming (or… more overwhelming). When Anathema had told him the man’s last name, he had only thought, vaguely, that Crowley had a flatmate in college with the last name Hastur. But this wasn’t _that_ man. The last time Aziraphale had seen _this_ man was at a gay bar covered in sparkles and glitter.

Ligur. Miss Scale E. Tail. 

“I do apologize, it’s just that all of these coincidences are starting to become a little much, even for me,” Aziraphale managed. When the man continued to look at him as though he’d lost his marbles, he added, “We were in school together. Oh, an awfully long time ago, so I don’t suppose you remember-” 

The man’s amber eyes widened and his lips parted. “Fell! You’re _Crowley’s_ friend. I thought for a moment there was something else going on, but I do remember you now.” 

“It was an awfully long time ago and it’s not as though we were friends,” Aziraphale agreed. Ligur grinned at him and motioned for him to have a seat on the soft couch while he took a position in the chair where he could observe Aziraphale. He leaned back in the chair, clasping his hands together. 

“And how is old Crawley? I haven’t seen him in ages. Are you two married yet?” Ligur asked. 

“Oh! Well, I don’t think-”

“That’s right, you don’t talk much anymore,” Ligur interrupted, tutting as though he thought that was quite a pity indeed. “It’s funny I didn’t recognize you. You look almost exactly the same. I owe Crowley one, you know. He introduced me to my husband, Brent. They used to live in that old Hell hole together, it was a mess.” 

“Your husband?” Aziraphale asked faintly. Ligur nodded. 

“Mmhmm, Brent Hastur. I took his last name to separate my weekend hobbies from my professional life. Brent played bass or guitar in a band with Crowley for a while but he’s stopped trying to be a rock star and teaches nursery school now,” Ligur explained. His features, which had been open and friendly, folded into an expression of professional concern. His eyes watched Aziraphale’s face. “Are you alright? You look a bit sick.” 

“I’m just very surprised to see you. And it’s been such a trying day already,” Aziraphale managed. His hands gripped the clipboard hard enough that he thought it might break. He started to stand, but then sat back down, but then stood up again. “I’m sorry to bother you, I really should be running along-” 

“Please, Mr. Fell, sit back down.” Ligur motioned to the sofa again and Aziraphale complied, sitting down rather heavily as his head continued to spin. Ligur leaned forward, his eyes watching Aziraphale’s face as though he were worried the man might snap or faint. He realized belatedly that was probably exactly what Ligur was concerned about. 

“It can be a shock,” Ligur was saying, “coming into a safe place and seeing someone you weren’t expecting, especially someone you have a previous relationship with. Obviously, I cannot be your physician, but I can recommend several others in this practice or friends I have in other practices, depending on your needs. We can go through a little bit of what you’re looking for and I will help you match with the right provider.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be any trouble,” Aziraphale said. Ligur smiled.

“I have a feeling you say that a lot. Don’t worry, Mr. Fell, it happens to me all the time, especially when Crowley or Brent would send one of their demons my way. If I didn’t have preconceived ideas about you I would try to treat you myself, but it wouldn’t be fair to you. Not to mention, and I’m speaking in a non-professional capacity,” Ligur said, and some of the flamboyant drawl he put on as his drag persona creeped into his tone, “I’ve listened to him go on and on about you for years. It wouldn’t be right to use that knowledge to my own advantage.” 

“Ah. Yes,” Aziraphale agreed lamely. His cheeks burned. Crowley _talked_ about him? Was Ligur speaking as a therapist or Crowley’s friend? “Quite right.” 

“But,” Ligur continued, and he leaned back in the chair, steepling his ebony hands together in front of him with a very pensive look on his face, “I also remember a scared young man asking for my help when one of my dear friends had his face caved in. So let’s find you someone that can help you.”

***

Crowley tugged an album from one of the stacks in Tracy’s shop, turning it over in his hands. He wasn’t like Aziraphale, he couldn’t appraise the monetary value of antique objects. He only knew their worth in regards to what he was willing to pay for them. When he was younger, they were a bit broke, and it was no secret that his dad wasn’t a shining example of parenthood or love, but he did remember having a little record player in his room and a tiny stack of records. He had no idea where it came from, only that it had always been there. As he grew into adolescence, he’d used the music to drown out the sounds of shouting and arguing. When he’d left, well, the record player had stayed.

As an adult, he’d begun collecting again. You just couldn’t beat that scratchy sound that hummed underneath the music. Thankfully he’d never taken his new collection to Luc’s because anything that had been at his flat was abandoned like their relationship and he would’ve had to start over again. No, his records were waiting patiently for him in Mayfair while he settled on what he was going to do now. 

Garden. He wanted a garden. 

He made his way towards the front of Madame Tracy’s shop with his find in hand. The shop was empty, but it was midday in the middle of the week, which worked in Crowley’s favor for this particular errand. He liked her shop. It was musty and smelled like, well, like Aziraphale a little bit, if he were being honest. It was quiet. 

Such a change from his former life, this whole being quiet business. 

It was a nice day to be wandering about town anway, and Crowley’s face was back to normal, so he was able to give the proprietor a charming grin as he approached the till. He placed the record on the counter. 

“I hear a rumor, young man, that you’ll be sticking around a bit longer,” Tracy started, batting her overly long false eyelashes at him. She was truly a work of art and her love of vintage things made him smile. (Inside, of course, where no one else could see his actual delight.) Today she wore some kind of orange and yellow paisley caftan made of a silky fabric that would have looked much better in black, in his opinion, but orange suited her. It matched her bouffant wig and her yellow plastic bangles. 

“And who told you that?” Crowley purred with a sly grin and a voice he only used when flirting with old ladies at grocery stores. “Talk to my landlord a lot, do you?” 

“Oh, sure, Shadwell and I are old friends. And getting closer by the minute,” Tracy teased with a lascivious wink. Crowley snorted. He doubted that anyone could consider Shadwell a close friend but, then again, if anyone could.. 

“Yeah, well. I was only going to stay a few weeks but,” and he punctuated the word by leaning on the counter and raising his eyebrows at her, “I was so impressed by the scenery I asked him to let me stay a few more months.” 

Tracy cackled delightedly, sending her arms flying and her bracelets clanking together. “You rotten tease. It’s nothing to do with me, dearie, I know that there’s a certain antique book collector who has won your heart.” 

Crowley chuckled and straightened up, still grinning at her. He’d put on a nice jacket for today, with a leather waistcoat under and a coal-black shirt. His skinny scarf dangled around his neck for a touch of casualness to the outfit. He wanted to look nice for her, to look serious about what he wanted to ask. “Not a bit. Actually, the real reason I want to stick around for a bit longer _does_ have something to do with you.” 

She was still smiling, with just a hint of lipstick on her teeth, when she asked him, “Oh yeah? And what is that, love?” 

“I heard a rumor,” Crowley said in a slow, drawling voice as he fiddled with the record he’d placed on the counter, “that you were the person to talk to about spaces at the weekend farmer’s market.” 

That hadn’t been what Tracy was expecting to hear at all, if her penciled in eyebrows meeting her hairline was any indication. She frowned. “Are you really interested in a space?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got a little start up in mind and I think it would do well,” Crowley said loftily, staring down at the record under his hand. He glanced up without moving his head and pursed his lower lip. 

“It’s a bit slow this time of the year, but we do get a good crowd during the warmer months,” Tracy said. Crowley nodded, tossing his head a bit to get his fringe off of his forehead. 

“Yeah, well, it would take me a few months to get ready, anyway. Might not even be feasible this year. I’m still researching it,” Crowley babbled. He was quickly losing his nerve. Tracy’s lips pressed together as she considered what he was saying.

“So you don’t have a business yet? You’re just starting one up?” Her tone sent his heart sputtering and that nerve in his eye twitching. 

“It’s in the process,” he promised. “That’s what I need Shadwell’s cottage for. But I visited the market and I looked at the other stalls. There’s no one currently doing what I’d be doing, or, not yet, anyway. Wrong season for it.” She didn’t look impressed and Crowley shifted from one foot to the other. “I _garden_. I want to sell plants.” 

Tracy frowned. “When you say plants-” 

“Nothing unsavory,” Crowley said, returning her frown with his own. He abandoned his fiddling and let the record rest untouched on the counter.

“More’s the pity. I could use a new, well, never you mind,” Tracy told him, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with one finger. She pursed her lips. “You’re really sticking around, then?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I plan to. Putting down roots,” he said, and he snickered at his own joke. His cheeks heated as he considered the vulnerable admission. “It’s why I decided to move here. I wanted to start over.” 

“Hmm. And those rumors I’ve heard about you and our resident book enthusiast? I’ve heard the two of you have been putting on quite the show wherever you turn up,” Tracy countered. Crowley raised his eyebrows at her. 

“I think we need to talk about your penchant for listening to gossip. Aziraphale is my friend. Besides, he might not even be staying here. I don’t know,” Crowley said. He slumped down over the counter, slithering down like a teenager until he was practically laying on it, even though it was glass and not really made to hold the weight of an adult male. “His brother’s a wanker and he might have to move. We don’t know if he’ll be able to get a flat around here.” 

Tracy rolled her eyes. “What’s his brother done now?” 

“He’s moving back to America and selling their house. You didn’t already know? I assumed that An-Anasasia? Ana- The Coffee Girl told everyone. She told me,” Crowley said. He sighed as he considered their predicament. To have found each other again only to be separated. Of course, there was social media now, and texting and email, but Aziraphale was hideously old fashioned and he probably would forget to do any of that. “He doesn’t have a steady income and he doesn’t believe in himself. Says he doesn’t have any marketable skills, so he doesn’t know what he could do to earn money.” 

“That’s horrible!” Tracy exclaimed and Crowley nodded. “Well, we just can’t let that happen. He’s our Aziraphale, he can’t go anywhere.” 

“Seems to be the general consensus, but what can we do?” He stood, reaching for his wallet so that he could pay for his record and quit wasting Tracy’s time, only something outside of the shop caught his attention. It meant he missed the contemplative expression on her face, but Luc was waiting for him outside which seemed like the more important thing to focus on. He was wearing a dark blue suit which set off his blonde hair, and he looked as slick and important as always, only he was doing it _leaning_ against Crowley’s beloved _Bentley_ as though he owned it. He wished the man would just leave him alone and go back to London. They’d barely been together when they _were_ sort of together. He didn’t understand the reluctance to let go and, frankly, he was starting to get more than a little creeped out.

“Someone bothering you? I can phone for the police,” Tracy asked intuitively, following his gaze.

Crowley sighed. “Something like that. I should probably go and deal with that.” 

“Oh, I don’t know. It looks like someone is looking out for you,” Tracy told him, gesturing with her chin. 

He could see Aziraphale coming down the street with two paper cups of coffee in his hand. His angel, all in white with that insane antique coat that went all the way to his knees, like a Dickensian hero. 

“Oh no,” Crowley hissed, but the horror in his voice turned into delight as he watched what happened next. There was no one else outside and the pavement was flat and clear, but Aziraphale seemed to trip on thin air and one of the cups flipped out of his hand and vomited it’s contents all over Luc’s chest. 

It looked thick and brown, like cocoa, with loads of whipped cream on top. 

Luc’s nice blue suit was _ruined_.

Crowley could only gape as Aziraphale attempted to wipe off the stain, only to smear it more, all while Luc berated him. The angel seemed to issue some sort of apology, although Crowley knew by the flapping hand gestures and overly sweet tones he could hear through the glass that Aziraphale wasn’t sorry at all. Luc seemed to know it, too. 

“Oh, fuck, he’ll _kill_ him,” Crowley managed, and he started for the door of the shop only to be yanked back by Tracy.

“No, no. Let him go on his own, dearie. He made the mess,” she said, hiding a giggle in her words, “and no matter how badly it bothers you, you have to let him clean them up sometimes. He’s a big boy.” Her hand held Crowley firmly in place with a surprising strength, acrylic nails digging into his arm. Luc was _furious_ and red in the face, screaming at Aziraphale, who merely stood and received it all with a posh angle to his head and a snobbish look on his face. He said something back which only seemed to anger Luc further and, finally, Luc started off down the street and away from the shop. 

Aziraphale smirked, and then he looked through the shop window and beamed at Crowley, tipping the remaining coffee in his hand up in a salute. What a bastard! 

Crowley _loved_ it.

“Stupid angel,” Crowley choked out, but he was smiling back. Tracy let her death grip on his suit jacket go and he was out the door in a flash. “Hey, angel, I see you lost your cocoa. Should I buy you another?” 

Aziraphale took a sip of his drink before replying, “This one was the cocoa, actually. I spilled some concoction Anathema is calling the ‘Fuck Off Latte’. Quite rude of her, but there were several shots of various sticky syrups in it. I’d fuck off, too, if I were suddenly drenched in such a substance. Oh, the cup, though. Mustn’t litter.” 

Crowley cackled, and waved Aziraphale off. “Forget it, angel. Wouldn’t want you to get a stain on that coat. Leave it to me.” 

He was still laughing as he picked up the plastic top and cardboard cup with the occult symbol on the front. Before he threw them into a nearby public rubbish bin he turned the cup over in his hands to reveal a ‘FUCK OFF ASS HAT’ written in Anathema’s hand on the side. He was laughing so hard his eyes were watering and he reached under his glasses to wipe his eyes. 

“Oh, angel, he’s not going to forgive you for that. It was an expensive suit,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale pretended to pout. “Yes, he informed me of that. I directed him to one of the local dry cleaners and offered to pay the bill, but I don’t think that was what he wanted to hear. These tricky old sidewalks, so many lumps and cobblestones. I don’t know what happened.” 

Crowley nodded, and his laughter subsided into a fond smile. “How’d you know he was waiting for me?” 

“Well, of course, I saw the car, dear. It’s rather obvious. And you weren’t in Anathema’s shop, so I had to assume you were browsing for more of those heathen records you’re always listening to,” Aziraphale said in a tone that suggested he was disappointed at Crowely’s lack of observation. Of course, Crowley’s questions should have been ‘why did you come’ instead of ‘how did you know’ but that was his own fault. “Anathema sends her regards.” 

“I’ll have to thank her. Maybe buy her some _heathen_ records,” Crowley teased. 

“I’m sure she would be very grateful, my dear,” Aziraphale said. He tilted his head up. “I know it’s a bit chilly and you were probably still shopping but if you’re not busy, perhaps we could go for a bit of a walk? Just down the street to the park, perhaps.” 

Crowley’s smile melted into a softer, fonder expression and he nodded. “Sure, angel. Lead the way.” 

“Do you need a drink or something first? We could certainly-” 

“Nah, nope, no. M’fine,” Crowley said.

They started off down the sidewalk, both of them very aware that Madame Tracy was plastered to the front window of her shop watching them. Crowley grinned at the idea. “So, other than tossing drinks at stalkers, how was your day?” 

“Splendid. I started off with an argument with Gabriel about eggs and then the highly recommended therapist I tried to see turned out to be one of your old friends, so I had to make an appointment with someone else,” Aziraphale told him, and how he managed to be only slightly sarcastic was anyone’s guess. Crowley frowned. 

“One of my old friends?” he asked, glancing over at his angel.

“Mmhmm. I had no idea Ligur was in the area or that he was a psychiatrist. It was a bit of a shock,” Aziraphale said.

“Ahh, yeah, he’s good, though. And still manages to do drag on the weekend. Why couldn’t he see you?” Crowley asked. 

“Conflict of interest, or something like it. He has preconceived notions about me from knowing you and Anathema so he recommended another provider and I’m seeing them next Wednesday,” Aziraphale explained. They were approaching the park and he led them towards a little bench he liked at the center of it. The weak afternoon sun attempted to burst through the wispy grey clouds. “It was alright, really. I understood the reasoning behind it and appreciate his professionalism.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I can understand that. I went to a therapist for a while that was recommended by someone at the company and it was real weird because they already knew me before I walked in. I had a reputation for bein’ a bit of a- well. For not being very nice,” Crowley said. “And the therapists knew it from the other employees that went there. It colored their opinion of me.” 

Aziraphale nodded and they fell into a companionable silence for a few minutes before Crowley thought to ask, “What did you and Gabriel fight about this time? If you didn’t get to talk to Ligur, maybe I could help. Or, y’know. Listen.” 

“Eggs, of all things,” Aziraphale said. Annoyance creeped into his voice, causing Crowley to smile to himself. He looked over at Aziraphale, trying so hard not to grin, but losing it when he caught sight of the man’s face. He really was cute when he was annoyed. “If you must know I was trying to recreate the eggs you made for me. They were really quite nice and I thought it would be good to eat something before my appointment.” 

“Oh? What’s wrong with eggs?” Crowley asked. 

“That’s what I wanted to know! I was standing in our kitchen, attempting to cook, which is not something I’m particularly talented at, mind you, when he came into the kitchen and began berating me for, oh, I don’t know, cholesterol or something.” Aziraphale wiggled uncomfortably. 

“And then..?” Crowley prompted.

“I, ehm. Well, he started to explain to me in a quite pointed manner that I’d embarrassed him by taking your side in front of your- in front of _that man_ ,” Aziraphale said, wiggling a little bit more. He sipped nervously at the cocoa he’d forgotten. “He told me I shouldn’t get involved in other people’s domestic arguments and that I should get over you because you’re obviously too cool for someone like me.” 

Crowley barely held his own rage in check at that idiot (who had better never walk in front of the Bentley because some people were worth spoiling paint jobs). But there was something he could tell Aziraphale was dancing around, something he wasn’t saying, so Crowley managed to prompt once more, “And then?” 

“Well, I told him to get _fucked_ ,” Aziraphale snapped. Crowley’s jaw dropped open, and then he started to laugh. It was slow and astonished at first but then he was practically rolling.

“Angel, I’ve known you a hundred or so years at this point and I don’t think I’ve heard you curse in that whole time as much as I’ve heard you curse today,” Crowley said when he’d composed himself, once more wiping the moisture out of his eyes. He was still snickering, and even though he was trying to look annoyed, he could see that Aziraphale was, too. 

“I told him that as we were no longer going to be living together he could keep his opinions about my life to himself,” Aziraphale confessed. 

“S’a good step, angel. One in the right direction.” 

Something soft filtered its way into Aziraphale’s eyes as he looked down at his friend. “Yes, I rather thought it was.” 

Crowley felt his cheeks flush and he looked away. Even with his glasses he felt unable to maintain eye contact if they were getting all sappy and- and shit. “C’mon, angel. I’ll take you to lunch, anywhere you want. Or dinner, I s’pose. My treat.” 

“Oh, hmm. Well, I am rather peckish,” Aziraphale admitted. After all, he hadn’t made very good eggs that morning, even though he’d tried his hardest. 

They stood and ambled towards the entrance to the park again, arms brushing together every so often. Crowley wondered to himself if something was changing between them, if there could potentially be _more_ to what they were doing. Unfortunately, his soft thoughts were interrupted as they passed Shadwell, who looked about ten years older than they were despite being younger than them in school. 

“Crowley! Just wanted to let you know, lad, I chased some bugger away from the front of your place,” Shadwell called as they passed. “Tracy told me you’d been having a bit of trouble, so I’ve been keeping an eye out.” 

“Blonde guy? About this tall?” Crowley asked, making a gesture with his hand.

“Yeah, that’s the one. He was filthy and in a feckin’ mood, so I doused him with the garden hose. Shouldn’t be botherin’ ya too much, at least not around any of my properties,” Shadwell said, giving him a rather pleased smile before continuing on his way into the park. 

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other and burst into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Pairings for this Chapter: Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk by Rufus Wainwright, Leah by Rachael Sage, Cigarette by Jeremy Fisher. 
> 
> 2/28 - I'd hoped to have the chapter up today but it's taking a little longer than usual to edit this one. I'll have it up for you by tomorrow. (Maybe even tonight but like 3 AM so it's still technically tomorrow, isn't it?) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Minor mention of disordered eating/implications of disordered eating, skip the ‘past’ section if that troubles you. Please remember, Crowley is getting help for his various issues in the present and all is turning towards being ‘well’.

_The Past._

_Not So Very Far as You Think_

In this one instance, Crowley didn’t mean to creep.

Usually, he did. He absolutely did. And there was no denying that he was an expert at _being_ creepy. Making people uncomfortable was something he excelled at and he’d honed that talent into a skill that served him well. It was one of the reasons he was a valued employee at Luc’s firm. Equal parts charming and creepy, him. That was Crowley in a nutshell. 

But _this_ particular time felt… dirty. Wrong, even. And it wasn’t like he was a shining beacon of morality. It also left him feeling really… disappointed?

The thing was, the thing that you had to know about Crowley was, as an adult he didn’t eat or drink while working. Not in some hipster detective way, although there were some similarities. Sometimes he simply forgot. Other times it was a power move. There was a lot of control to be gained by creating a business meeting that went on for hours with no intention of feeding the opposing party. Sometimes it was a control thing in that he needed to control his own body. He’d never been much for food, having never had enough of it growing up, and he just didn’t have the time. 

So, really, the thing was that he didn’t consider himself as having an eating disorder but he wouldn’t be surprised if other people did think he had some kind of fucked up relationship with nutrition. He’d convinced himself it was a habit but part of him knew it was more than that. He just needed to make sure it didn’t head in _too_ bad a direction. 

In an effort to convince himself he was fine, he’d ducked into a small coffee shop for a drink. During the work day, even. It was almost like taking a break. So, clearly, he did not have a problem. The coffee shop was a generic sort of place with white painted walls (was that _painted brick_?) and a softly aged wooden counter. The main room was filled with wooden tables and black bistro chairs with large windows that faced out onto the busy city sidewalks. Exposed bulbs, those chunky old-looking ones, hung from wires throughout. There was a little off-shoot of a room with a few booths, kind of less lighting, and it looked really good for lurking, which was another of Crowley’s specialties. There were a few student-looking types scattered about, the kind with overly large jumpers and messy hair and dark circles under their eyes, but they were all engrossed in books or chatting. 

Was he near a university? No? Where was he, actually?

“Eight shots in a medium cup, to go,” Crowley growled at the poor kid working behind the counter. He hoped the boy’s actual name wasn’t ‘Warlock’, but then some parents were weird so who could say. Crowley was already in a foul mood because a meeting had gone poorly and the client had gone off on him, and it didn’t help that things with Luc were starting to feel claustrophobic. He felt like Luc had this idea he somehow _owned_ Crowley. Seeing him at work and during his off hours, catering to every whim just to avoid his explosive temper tantrums- it was all a bit much. Not that the kid behind the counter deserved any of that being aimed at him. 

Warlock just gaped. “B-But, sir, that’s-” 

“I know what it is,” Crowley snarled. “Eight shots, in a cup, to go.” As the kid paled, probably wondering what sort of demon wanted eight shots of espresso with nothing else in it, he added, “No room for cream and put a lemon wedge in it.” 

Warlock turned green. “Right away, sir. Would you care for-”

“No. Just the drink,” Crowley said. He’d come in for food, but somewhere between the door and the register he’d lost any intention of eating. Terrorizing unsuspecting baristas was much more entertaining. As soon as his drink was in hand, he slipped a fifty into the tip jar as a bonus for them having to deal with him when he felt like this. 

He chose a booth in the lurking section of the shop and slouched down in his seat. There was a half-wall separating this portion of the cafe from the main seating area, even though the store was cramped to begin with, and Crowley took advantage of the impromptu hiding spot. He wiggled on the vinyl seat, pulling his phone out of his tight trouser pocket to check his phone for any work crisis he might have missed. He had a missed call from the office number and then a text from Luc. 

_Where the fuck are you?_

As if Crowley could answer that question. 

He was going to need to do something about Luc, but what?

“Don’t these pastries look charming, Peter?” 

Crowley’s heart damned near stopped beating in his chest. His jaw dropped and panic twisted his open lips down at the edges. It had been more than a decade since he’d heard that voice, probably closer to two. It was as soft and musical as ever and the tone of it pierced through the busy shop with it’s cheerfulness. He turned around to peer over towards the counter and very nearly choked on his own tongue as he tried to swallow around a lump that was suddenly lodged in his throat. 

Aziraphale looked fucking _beautiful_. 

He was dressed in his usual pastel toned clothes, complete with some kind of vintage or reproduction khaki frock coat. His white hair was still short and stuck up like a halo around his adorably round face. After the shock had faded a little, he did realize that his old friend looked a little worn around the edges, like he’d been unwell. There were gentle purple bags around his eyes and a few lines that hadn’t been there when they were younger. Despite the cheery tone of his voice, his smile wasn’t reaching his eyes. Which would be concerning if Crowley cared, and he definitely did _not_ care or worry that his old friend might have been ill or something.

Crowley twisted back around in his booth and slumped down, hoping the wall was enough to hide him. He wondered what he should do. Should he go and say hi? With how they’d left everything?

With how _Aziraphale_ had left everything.

He turned back to look at Aziraphale, almost convinced he should at least say something. He wondered if the sight of Crowley all cleaned up in his slick suit would change some of the angel’s old opinions of him. Maybe now, with all his money and success, he could rub the angel’s nose in it a little-

But the man standing with Aziraphale stopped him. 

This ‘Peter’ bloke seemed to be about their age, so he was pretty sure that wasn’t the professor that Aziraphale had run away with, but there was something about him that Crowley immediately didn’t like. He wanted to convince himself that it was nothing to do with the fact that he had a possessive hand at the small of Aziraphale’s back, or that he was rolling his eyes at Aziraphale’s enthusiasm over desserts. The man looked preppy enough for Aziraphale’s taste, which was something Crowley had never managed nor aspired to. He had on pleated khaki trousers and brown loafers, some nice button-up shirt and a sensible olive green windbreaker. He looked like the type of man anyone would be proud to take home to their parents. 

Crowley looked down at himself. Never, in the last fifteen years, had he felt self-conscious about his appearance. Crowley was a vain creature, but he reveled in it. He _knew_ he was beautiful and well-styled, and he used that knowledge to his advantage on more than one occasion. Hell, he’d even gotten Luc Morningstar into bed and Luc had some pretty high standards, but seeing Aziraphale put him right back into that lanky, awkward teen headspace that he’d had in university. Not good enough. Riff-raff. _Punk._ He couldn’t imagine his all black wardrobe next to that tartan and khaki cloud of a man. 

There was something about this Peter bloke, though. Crowley had trained himself to trust his gut instinct and his guts told him this man was bad news. Something seemed _commanding_. The disapproving, pursed expression on his lips was off, maybe, or the frowning pull of his brows. Crowley knew how to read body language and whatever it was about this guy, he hated him on sight. He shrunk down lower in the booth, hoping he was well-hidden from them. 

Peter huffed out a sigh before responding to Aziraphale’s question. “I thought we were cutting back on sweets, hmm?” 

From his new position, Crowley couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face, but he could hear the disappointment in his voice when he replied, “I’m just saying they’re awfully nice looking. Aesthetically, of course.” 

Peter laughed, if you could call that weird nasal thing he was doing _laughter_. “We’ve discussed this, pet.” 

Crowley pulled a face and mouthed the word to himself with disgust. _“Pet?_

The nickname made bile rise into his mouth, acid and bitter. He very nearly stood up to interrupt them, to- well- alright, what could he actually do? Aziraphale had made his choice years ago to cut Crowley out. Seemed daft to go rushing in and, what? Buy the angel breakfast? No, stay right where you are, _Crawley_ and leave Aziraphale _alone_.

“I know we discussed frivolous spending, Peter, and I did cut back. We’ve been cooking at home and I haven’t had tea out in ages. I didn’t even attend that book auction!” Aziraphale protested quietly. His tone was just this side of pleading. “I’m just mentioning that they look very nice. That’s all.” 

There were lots of scenarios where penny pinching wasn’t bad, Crowley tried to reason with himself. Perhaps they were saving for a wedding or saving to purchase a home. Perhaps they were trying to go on holiday. But there was that lingering feeling that the whole thing wasn’t quite right. This didn’t _sound_ like any of those instances and Crowley let out a disgusted hiss. Then, worried he’d been heard, he slapped a hand over his own mouth and slid further under the table. 

That patronizing git who had his claws into Aziraphale made that weird chuckling noise again and said, “You’re already getting a treat as it is. That’s why we’re buying coffee. Now, do you know what you want?” 

A treat! Was a fucking drink the adult equivalent of bribing a good toddler with sweets? 

Crowley gagged. 

Maybe Aziraphale had a _type_. First, the professor, and now this idiot. Clearly the reason Crowley never had a shot was that Aziraphale had some kind of weird daddy kink. Only… that seemed wrong, too. Nothing about this seemed fun or kinky. 

It seemed manipulative. 

“Of course, Peter. You’re quite right,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. Crowley almost choked on his own tongue to keep himself from shouting out, ‘No, he isn’t!’. 

“Come now, we’re holding up the queue. We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry,” Peter complained. 

“Ah, yes. One earl grey latte, please.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded tired and worn, as though this was an old argument and one that he never won. 

“Small black coffee for me,” Peter said. “And make his a small as well.” After a few minutes of silence, having finished their transaction, Peter said, “Perhaps, if you’re good, we can get some gelato later.” 

“Very good, Peter,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley snuck another look. Peter was steering Aziraphale towards the door. Aziraphale’s body language told the entire story. He seemed meek and contrite, as though he’d committed some great sin, and his shoulders were sagging. His lips were tilted upwards, but it wasn’t a smile and it definitely didn’t light up his face. He looked small and tired. The other man’s hand found it’s position again at the small of Azirapahle’s back, practically pushing him out of the cafe. 

Crowley straightened himself and then his suit, brushing his sweaty hands down the smooth denim of his jeans. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his nerves. So… that was a _thing_. And there was a part of him that thought he should be joyous, that he should celebrate Aziraphale getting what he deserved after being such a bastard, but Crowley could only feel… sad? He picked up the cup with his abomination of a drink and sipped- it burned a hole in his empty stomach. He chucked the entire thing in the bin before he left the shop, determined to return to work and put Aziraphale as far out of his mind as he possibly could. 

He had six unread messages from Luc.

_Present_

The yarn seller was casting nasty looks at the cheese vendor, which amused Crowley to no end as he stood in line to buy Beez a cup of tea. It was another frigid Saturday morning which meant Beez was back at the farmer’s market and Crowley was back at annoying Beez. He’d practically hidden the Bentley when he parked, hoping that Luc had fucked off back to the city, and he was in another casual sort of look in order to blend in. Or, that was what he was telling himself. The whole point of being in the country and attempting to start fresh was slowing down, pumping the brakes on his life in order to stop himself from blindly falling into trouble. Perhaps a more casual approach to style was a part of that. His jeans were still tighter than they had any right to be, but they were a pair he’d owned for ages and they were black and soft, with a soft deep charcoal jumper and black coat over it. He looked like some kind of goth fisherman, but he didn’t hate it, which was actually kind of surprising.

Crowley paid for Beez’s drink and headed in the direction of their booth, but not before the yarn woman sent a ball flying at the cheese vendor’s head. 

“What’s with them?” Crowley asked, chuckling to himself. He held out the paper cup to Beez, whose bored expression barely registered any action happening at all. 

“Slept with her husband,” Beez remarked blandly, accepting the hot tea. They popped the lid off once more and began to drip some of their own honey down into the cup, just as they’d done the last time. “You’re still here, I see. Can’t believe it.” 

"Well, bee-lieve it," Crowley said, snickering at his own pun, which earned him a well-deserved glare. 

“Startin’ to look like a local, I see,” they said, giving his outfit the once over. Crowley feigned indignation. 

“Satan forbid,” he mumbled. Beez snickered into their tea. All Crowley had wanted was to be comfortable for once in his life, and it was fucking _cold_ outside. Since he was supposed to be watching his health, sometimes that meant trying to pick function over fashion, although function could definitely hold a side of fashion if done right. And in all black. “Hope this isn’t how you talk to your customers or you won’t have any.” 

“My customers don’t come to me for my charmzz,” they buzzed. Beez returned their eyes to the crowd, acknowledging the couple of people who were picking through their wares, before asking, “So what’s new on my favorite drama this week?” 

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Crowley mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“You know the one. The opening song is Crowley and the Angel sitting in a tree,” they sang at him, complete with a kissing noise. “It’s been all over town. You two dining together, going antiquing together. Could you be any more of a gay stereotype?” 

“I hardly think chatting with Tracy counts as ‘antiquing’,” Crowley replied with a bitter frown. 

Beez merely raised their eyebrow, biting the plastic lid of their cup. “And what sort of shop does Tracy own?” 

“Shut up! S’not like that,” Crowley objected. He scowled as Beez’s passive face took on a more triumphant expression. “He’s my friend. I’m helping him through a hard time. S’nothing.” 

“Look, Crawley, I don’t give a flying fuck who you sleep with. What I do know is everyone is always like, ‘poor little angel’, ‘poor little rich boy’, but all I see is ‘poor fucking Crowley, gettin’ screwed over again’.” Beez took a painful sounding gulp from their cup. “You’re fucking besotted. I just want you to be careful. You need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself first or it’s going to fuck up all your progress.” 

Anger flared in Crowley’s stomach but it fizzled out just as quickly as it bloomed. They had a valid point, didn’t they? Crowley was meant to be taking it easy, keeping himself healthy, and here he was once more swept up in the dramatic chaos that came with trying to make Aziraphale happy. It was exhausting. If he didn’t watch himself, he’d fly too close to the sun and get burned by the angel. Again. At the same time, he really enjoyed helping his friend, getting those little happy smiles to form on an otherwise disturbingly somber face. After all, Aziraphale had suffered as much as Crowley had. Right?

Beez took pity on him and smacked him on his arm. “Hey! Oi! Snap out of it. Look, you don’t have to stop seeing him. Just be careful is all.” They paused, watching Crowley. “You just have to make yourself a priority, too. Especially with that fuckwad ex of yours not getting the hint.” 

“Fuck,” Crowley hissed, exhaling a sigh. He started to pat himself down for a cigarette but remembered he’d tossed out his last carton after that day. The day Aziraphle had ‘found out’. Having Luc ust strip him bare and force him to tell the angel everything had been humiliating. “Why are you always right?” 

“Because I’m not thinking wif my genitals,” they droned. They gestured with their cup. “Speaking of your prick.” 

They motioned with their cup towards the crowd. There, resplendent in his usual beige on khaki on beige, was Crowley’s angel. He’d just caught sight of Crowley and wiggled before giving an excited little wave. Crowley’s mouth stretched into what Beez would later inform him was the stupidest grin. 

“Good morning, Crowley!” Aziraphale said, beaming up at him as he approached. His smile turned shy and faded a bit as he nodded to Beez. “Good morning.” 

“Yeah,” Beez drawled, looking away. 

“Be Nice,” Crowley hissed. Beez shrugged. 

“I do hope I’m not interrupting. I saw you and thought I’d come and say hello,” Aziraphale said. Crowley grinned down at him. 

“Hiya, angel,” he said softly. 

“Hello,” Aizraphale cooed. 

“Get out of my stall!” Beez snarled. “Before I vomit on my own merchandise.” 

“Come on, angel. B’fore someone gets a bee in their bonnet,” Crowley said, snickering at the look Beez shot him. They walked for a few moments, pacing away from the stall. Actually, away from the whole damn market, but Crowley was barely aware of it. They started down a street that was nearly empty as it was so early in the morning, but there were closed shops that would soon open and quaint old houses that had been turned into bed and breakfasts. He didn’t remember this place being so _touristy_ when he’d lived there before, but, then again, he hadn’t been paying attention back then, either.

“I don’t think your friend likes me very much but I supposed I’ve earned that,” Aizraphale said sadly as he trailed along next to Crowley. Crowley shrugged.

“Eh, I wouldn't worry about it, angel. None of us were saints,” Crowley replied. “S’pecially not me.” 

“Oh, but you’ve always been-” 

“If you say ‘kind’-” 

Aziraphale tilted his chin up and raised his eyebrows. “You’ll what?” 

“Something!” Crowley threatened. “Something nasty.” 

They continued walking in silence but Crowley knew it was coming. Aziraphale could be a little predictable, especially in his sense of humor.

“You’ve been so _kind_.” 

Striking as fast as any snake, Crowley reached out and snatched Aziraphale by the wrist. He glanced around and noticed a little nook in between two of the old stone buildings, and he tugged the angel between them. It was a tight squeeze but somehow he still managed to slam Aziraphale against the wall. With his face mere centimeters from Aziraphale’s, he hissed again, “I’m not _kind_.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked down to Crowley’s lips and back up to his eyes. The gaze was heavy and seemed to last forever, until finally Aziraphale murmured, “You _are_.” 

The kiss was brutal. It was hot and a little bit mean. It was revenge for other kisses that had been stolen and never given, but Aziraphale melted into it with the same enthusiasm he had for chocolate cheesecake or tiramisu, if not more. Horror bloomed in Crowley’s stomach even as Aziraphale’s mouth worked against his. 

Crowley was greedy, though, and he continued to demand, to take, even while panic set in. They didn’t do this, especially not sober, but here was a whole pliant armful of angel for Crowley to writhe against and he couldn’t bring himself to complain. Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s jagged hips with hands strong enough to break bricks while eating his mouth like a delicacy. When Crowley finally pulled back, there was a whine at the loss and then big blue eyes were staring up at him. 

Unable to say anything meaningful or important, Crowley merely cooked an eyebrow and said, "Nasty enough for you, angel?"

Aziraphale licked his blessed lips and hummed. "Not even a little. Quite nice, in fact."

Aziraphale’s assault on Crowley was fast and desperate, pulling him close. He was drowning in soft limbs and tweed. It was addicting and delicious and…

It couldn't possibly be real. Crowley pulled back, breathing heavily, and thankful for his glasses for once. "Nnn, no, we don't- we don't do this- I'm ss-"

Aziraphale- oh, fuck, his expression. He looked _wrecked_ and Crowley quickly started to back track. “No! No, nnno, no, angel, I mean, you can’t do this to me again. You’d kill me, angel.” 

“I would never want to do that,” Aziraphale said. His hand brushed over Crowley’s cheek, stroking gently along his jaw. Crowley gasped and leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. He couldn’t believe this was something they were doing, out here, in the daylight. Where anyone could walk by (or be watching and perhaps snapping photos). 

“If you’re just toying with me, angel, you have to stop. I’m not trying to be dramatic, but I don’t know that I could do- I can’t- Look, there’s a reason we don’t do this sober. I’m not great with words,” Crowley said, feeling his heart start to crack. Aziraphale’s hand traveled from his jaw up to his temple and he gently tugged Crowley’s glasses away from his face. He put enough distance between them that he could look Crowley in the eye. His brow puckered, as if he didn’t quite understand what Crowley was saying. 

“Angel. I’ve loved you since the day we met. I thought I was over it, maybe I was for a while, but you’re still the same only you’re not the same, you’re even better because you’re here and I can talk to you, but you’re not in a place where you should start something like this and I’m not in a place, but God, Satan, fuck, anyone I just want to _drown_ in you-” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, cutting off Crowley’s nonsensical rambling. The slender ginger swallowed hard. Aziraphale tucked Crowley’s glasses into the collar of his shirt before both hands returned to rest on Crowley’s sharp hips. He tugged them until they were flush together. “My dear. If you think your feelings are unrequited, you are quite mistaken.” 

Crowley’s brain stopped working. 

When it restarted, he realized that Aziraphale was still speaking and he attempted to catch up. 

“I understand that I was never ready before. You know, I’ve only attended a few of those appointments but I’ve been _trying_ to do better. Things are different now. I should have known all of those years ago that I couldn’t rely on my family, and I took you for granted. Crowley, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale was saying. “I just feel wretched that I’ve never been able to properly be there for you, to be the friend that you _deserve_.” 

Without his glasses, Crowley felt hideously exposed, but he couldn’t look away from Aziraphale. He was caught up in the angel’s divine spell. “You make it sound like you owe me something. You don’t owe me anything, Aziraphale. I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.” 

“Yes, I understand that,” Aziraphale said in a rather prissy tone. The corner of Crowley’s mouth lifted in a small grin. “But a partnership, whether it be as friends or more, should be something more equal. I’ve realized that now. It’s something I’ve never had before, but I’d like to try. Maybe this is all a bit fast-” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. Of course Aziraphale would think twenty bloody years was ‘too fast’. At the same time, he couldn’t help but hear Beez’s voice in his head. He needed to make sure he was taking care of himself, protecting himself. He needed to make sure he was alright first. As much as he hated to admit it, it was that whole airplane-oxygen-mask debate again. He needed to put the bag on his face and breathe before helping someone else. 

He nudged his nose against the angel’s anyway. “I want to kiss you again, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I want to, though.” 

“My dear,” Aziraphale murmured. “You can kiss me anytime you like.”

“Just, nngg,” Crowley became tongue tied as Aziraphale pecked his lips close along Crowley’s jaw. “Promise we’re going to talk about this.” 

“Yes. We’ll talk, and we’ll take it very slow. We’ll make sure that it’s a good pace for both of us,” Aziraphale agreed firmly. And Crowley didn’t think much more about it after that because Aziraphale was kissing him and that’s all he needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming for Sunday updates for this fic, but I don't want to absolutely promise anything only because I'm in a show and rehearsals have kicked my arse. AIMING for Sunday for the next chapter, though. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please consider checking out my other fic here or come chat at me on Tumblr.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


End file.
